


When You Hold Me It's So Powerful

by oceans_and_lovers



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Jealous Jon Snow, Jon and Sansa Are Not Related, Jon and the Starks Are Not Related, Past Joffrey Baratheon/Sansa Stark, Protective Jon Snow, Sansa is an artist and Jon rides a motorbike, Sansa is sad but gets happier and more of a bamf, Slow Burn, whoops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 08:17:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19719778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceans_and_lovers/pseuds/oceans_and_lovers
Summary: "If you could choose a gift what would it be?"-Those with gifts are rare, descended from ancient families and born with powers.Jon Snow has the gift of ice manipulation, and after Sansa meets him, she begins to develop a gift of her own. As Sansa struggles under the pressure of school and her new-found powers, Jon offers to help her. She accepts, and so it begins.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have never written Jonsa before, so apologies if they seem ooc. This was written with love and enthusiasm, if not with accuracy.
> 
> Gifts in this universe are considered rare, but are more common in areas like Winterfell where more families have ancient roots. They are accepted, but people are still wary of them. It's like a toned down version of mutants.
> 
> "There's an energy  
> When you hold me  
> When you touch me  
> It's so powerful."

✨

{Sansa}

  
  


“If you could choose a gift, what would it be?”

Sansa glanced up at Jeyne, holding her pencil still above her sketchbook, as Margaery said, “Definitely telepathy. I’d know the whole school’s secrets then.”

Jeyne scoffed. “As if you don’t already.”

“Telepathy would be awful,” Sansa said, returning to her sketch of Margaery’s profile, “Hearing everyone’s thoughts all the time would be either terrible or boring.”

  
Jeyne clapped her hands together. “I’d have flight.”   
  
“No one has had the gift of flight in centuries. Not even someone with the blood of the ancient families,” Margaery said dismissively, examining her nails for chips Sansa knew were non-existent.

“Telepathy isn’t exactly a common gift either.”

The two girls continued debating gifts as Sansa sat in silence, smiling softly as she listened to them and shaded in her drawing of Margaery’s plaited hair so it seemed to glint in the autumn sun. 

Their form room was buzzing with chatter as they all waited for Mr Gilpin to arrive with their timetables for the new year. Sansa only recognised half the people around her, as most of the kids in Winterfell moved to Wintertown High School in Year 12, as it was the only school in the area to have a decent sixth form. That meant there would be one or two new people who had gifts. 

Sansa hoped they wouldn’t be destructive ones - she was sure Mr Seaworth wouldn’t allow anyone in who couldn’t control their gifts, and most gifted people had blocking pills with them just in case, but they could still be dangerous. Wintertown’s ground floor had been flooded once, when Sansa was in Year 8, when a girl with water powers had been dumped and had lost control.

Sansa shivered at the thought of that girl’s cries as the school was evacuated, water pouring down the steps outside, swirling under classroom doors. She’d been pulled by Jeyne down the corridor away from the girls bathrooms, and the girl - Emily, Sansa remembered - had been left alone. Until the GS Team arrived to take care of it.

“Sansa, what about you then? You’re more likely to get a gift than either of us.”

Sansa startled at Jeyne’s firm voice and looked at her friends once more, chewing her lip. “Really, gifts are more trouble than they’re worth. Don’t you remember the flood?”

Margaery huffed, and said, “Humour us, Sansa, come on, it’s the first day! And be positive, who knows who could be lurking round the corner with a gift to sweep you off your feet.”

Sansa sighed and then was hit in the forehead by a pen Jeyne had flicked at her. “Fine, yes, if I could choose a gift, it would be…”

She trailed off and bit her lip again - what would her gift be?  
  
The Starks were of ancient blood, but still none of them had had gifts for many years. Her grandmother, Lyarra, had the gift of light and had been able to make her skin glow, and before that, her great grandfather had the power to twist metal in any way he wished. 

But Sansa wouldn’t wish for either of those. 

“The power to heal perhaps. Or draw well.”  
  
Margaery didn’t look impressed as she raised one of her eyebrows at Sansa, but Jeyne just said, “You already draw better than anyone in our year Sansa, shut your face.”   
  
_I wish._ She was about to respond to Jeyne’s exaggeration, when Mr Gilpin finally shuffled into the classroom, his arms full of books and folders, saying, “Settle down boys and girls.”

After being registered, their timetables were distributed and Sansa scanned hers quickly, taking note of her teachers. Thankfully, she had Mr Lannister for English Literature and Mrs Kekilli for Fine Art again, but her heart sank when she read that she had Mr Baelish for Politics. 

He’d always been interested in her academic achievement, which she supposed was expected given that she was one of the smartest in her year, but his excessive insistence that should she encounter any trouble she should go to him - only to him - made her stomach knot uncomfortably. _I have been close with your mother since I was a boy,_ he’d said last year, _I’d like you to view me as a friend you can come to, as I’m sure your mother would want._   
  


“I’ve got Shae for art, Mrs Hunter for maths,” Jeyne said, already picking up her highlighters to shade in her timetable and Sansa did too, “and Miss Tarth for history. Thank fuck, she’s the only decent history teacher here.”

“I’ve got Shae as well,” Sansa said, and Margaery chimed in, saying, “And I’ve got Tarth. She’s pregnant though so we’ll be stuck with Mr Glover by Easter.”

Smirking at Sansa, she added, “Maybe I should ask Robb to help me. I’m sure he’d _love_ to help me pass History.”   
  
Sansa groaned at her friend’s antics. “Back off my brother, Tyrell!” 

To that, Margaery shoved Sansa’s pencil case onto the floor.

“Very mature!” Sansa flung up her hands, then bent down and began to pick them up, jumping when another pair of hands started helping her.

“Um,” Sansa said, her thoughts stumbling when she looked up to see a rather cute boy smiling down at her. “Thank you…”  
  
“It’s Dickon,” he said, flashing her a smile as he leaned past her to place to pile of pencils on her desk.

“Thank you, Dickon.” 

He was handsome, in a conventional way, like someone from one of the cliche teen movies she’d once poured over. 

But he also looked like someone who would break her heart. Sansa had grown better at spotting them now...

_Never again._

“Her name’s Sansa, by the way,” Margaery called, and Sansa foolishly flushed. When she nodded at Dickon and sat the right way in her seat again, she swatted Margaery in the arm, but Margaery’s answering sly smile was unrepentant. 

Soon the bell rang, and they all rushed to first period - Sansa to art with Jeyne, and Margaery to Economics.

Shae was the best art teacher in Wintertown, and Sansa smiled at her as she arranged her pens and pencils neatly around her sketchbook, waiting for the lesson to formally begin. Next to her, Jeyne scooped up her pencils and dumped them on the table.

Sansa had been taught by Shae Kekilli for two years for her GCSE in Art and it was Shae who supported her in taking fine art at A Level. _I could even take it at university_. Sansa shook her head, dismissing that thought - she’d take law, like her mother, like her father.

_She wasn’t good enough for Oxford anyway._

“To all who are new to Wintertown High School, my name is Shae Kekilli,” she said, standing with her hands on her hips at the centre of the room, surveying the half-full classroom, “You have an hour to draw what you wish, so I can see whether you have made the right choice in choosing art at A Level. Next lesson, we will begin the course. Begin.”

An hour wasn’t long, and Sansa took deep breaths to steady herself before pulling out her phone. Her lockscreen was a photograph of Rickon, taken over the summer, covered in mud and grinning besides Shaggydog, and it was perfect. She drew people more than anything else, her sketchbook overflowing with half-finished sketches of her family and friends, and more often than not it was Rickon filling those pages, from the time he was born till now, nine years later.

Turning to a fresh sheet in her sketchbook, Sansa rooted around in her canvas bag for her charcoal set. It was always easiest to capture Rickon’s wildness with charcoal, smudging it roughly and freely.

Jeyne was already drawing, sketching out the plants on the windowsill beside them with small, jagged lines, not bothering to clean them up just yet though time was ticking by. Throughout their GCSE, they’d worked side by side yet hardly ever spoke, as Sansa preferred working in silence and Jeyne jammed in her headphones the moment she opened her sketchbook.

With the hum of Queen bleeding into the silence between them, Sansa began to draw, soon losing herself in it. 

There was no pressure when she drew, not really. She could pick up a pen and draw anything she liked and it would be hers, only hers. She could keep it, close to her heart, or burn it in the fire in the Starks’ lounge, it was up to her. 

She drew and painted until she could think of nothing else, until her hands were covered in charcoal or ink.

When the bell rang, Sansa sighed and stretched, as did Jeyne, and they grinned at one another, before judging what the other had drawn.

“It’s rude to make us all look shit on the first day,” Jeyne said, standing up and gently shoving at Sansa’s shoulders.

Sansa smiled and shook her head as she gathered up all her materials and slung her bags onto her shoulders. “Yours isn’t bad, Jeyne. Don’t put yourself down.”  
  


“Hand in your work before you go,” Shae shouted, and when Sansa passed over her ripped out sketchbook page, she said, “Good work Sansa.”

She hummed at Jeyne’s sketch, but, like usual, Jeyne didn’t seem to mind, dragging Sansa out of the classroom and hugging her tightly before they parted ways for second period.

“How much gossip could Margaery possibly have to share with us after 7 hours?” Sansa said, holding her sketchbook in her arms and remembering to correct her posture so she didn’t slouch as they waited for Margaery to join them outside Wintertown’s gates.

“You doubt her gifts,” Jeyne responded, leaning back against the stone wall. “How was Baelish anyway?”  
  
Sansa’s felt her shoulders stiffen and she willed them to relax. He hadn’t done much today, which she felt she should be grateful for.

“He was very kind.”

“Creep,” Jeyne spat, and that made a smile edge onto Sansa’s face.

“Stark!” She heard a voice call, and Sansa flinched and her smile died on her lips.

“Ah fuck,” Jeyne murmured, “Should I punch him?”

Sansa could only shake her head, before Joffrey stood in front of them, his friends flanking him on either side. Sansa’s heart pounded in her chest and she pressed her trimmed nails tightly into her palm.

“Good first day then? Meet anyone you like the look of?” When she only looked at him coldly, he continued, folding his arms, “I didn’t know you were mute _and_ stupid.”

It was familiar, the trickle of humiliation down her spine, the bite of her nails in her palms. _Stupid, stupid, little girl._

But she felt no tears pricking at her eyes. And for that, Sansa felt proud of herself, as small an achievement as it was. She was turning seventeen soon. She wouldn’t cry like a child. Not for him, not anymore.

 _Porcelain to ivory to steel,_ she repeated to herself.

“Sansa!” Margaery grabbed one of her hands, then looked at Joffrey and his cronies, her smile bright and sharp, and her voice cut through the silence around them as she said with steel in her voice, “Joffrey, of course, it’s a pleasure. Haven’t you got somewhere to be?”  
  
“Well, actu-”   
  
“So have we. Excuse us.”   
  
With that, Margaery twisted away from Joffrey’s smirk, pulling Sansa with her, and the three of them marched to Margaery’s car.

“Starbucks?”  
  
“Starbucks,” Jeyne said, and Sansa nodded, clutching her sketchbook close to her chest.

“Then to Highgarden, where I have the most interesting news. You’ll love it,” Margaery said, slipping into the driver’s seat and leaning across to kiss Sansa’s cheek.

Sansa knew she shouldn’t allow Joffrey to make her feel like this, but it was hard. Thank the gods Robb hadn’t seen - he’d sworn to kill Joffrey if he came near Sansa again, and she knew he would, if Arya didn’t get to Joffrey first. It was best they didn’t know…

Sansa told herself that as she unfurled her fists, pressing her palms to her thighs as they drove through Winterfell.

  
It had been a tradition for years, for the three of them, several times a week, to go and buy coffees after school and then go to Margaery’s house, to hear all the latest news, to draw, and for Margaery to practise her nail art and makeup ideas.

It was a routine Sansa loved, and it calmed her, holding her caramel cappuccino in her hands, feeling the warmth seep into her aching palms as her friends gossiped and laughed. 

Margaery, Jeyne, and her had been friends since the middle of high school, growing closer the older they got and the less they cared about what Dany Targaryen or Joffrey Baratheon thought of them. 

When Sansa had been trapped by Joffrey in the P.E. changing rooms, it was Jeyne who slapped him and got her home safely, and when Margaery lost her mother, it was Sansa and Jeyne who turned up to Highgarden’s door with coffees and overnight bags.

“The most important news,” Margaery said, leaning back against her bed’s headboard and sipping her frappuccino, “Is that there are a couple of new people,” - she paused for dramatic emphasis - “Who are gifted."

Jeyne whistled whilst Sansa said, tucking her feet under herself on the sofa, “How can you be sure?”

“I saw one girl use her gift for one thing.”

Sansa sucked in a breath, and heard Jeyne do the same. Gifts were a part of life, but they weren’t overly common, and those who had them didn’t tend to _flaunt_ them on the first day at a new school. Mr Seaworth discouraged their use in school and imposed severe punishments for those who broke the rules, especially if any normal students were harmed.

“Who?”

“A girl called Alice, in my textiles class, which is practically empty by the way. I told you that you should have joined me, Sansa, I hate being lonely. _”_ Margaery took another sip of her drink. “She knocked a pack of pins off her desk, but made them _float_ before they got everywhere. She altered gravity.”

Gravity manipulation. A rare gift. She must have ancient blood in her for that, maybe even from the Kings of Winter. She had to.

“Damn,” Jeyne said, jumping onto Margaery’s bed and making the other girl yelp. “What happened next?”

“She got bright red and explained that she had complete control of her powers and no one had any need to fear her. I wonder if she could make someone float away like a balloon if she wanted.”  
  
“Better having her as your friend than enemy,” Sansa said, more to her coffee than her friends.

“How much would it cost to get her to do that to Dany? I’ve got to spend my savings somehow.” Jeyne rubbed her hands together as she said it.

“For her, I have someone better in mind,” Margaery cut in, and the gleam in her eye made Sansa lean in.

“Apparently in the year above, there’s a new boy, aptly called Jon Snow.”  
  
Margaery paused again, and Sansa sighed internally and took the bait - “What’s his gift?”   
  
“Ice manipulation.”   
  
“You’re kidding.”   
  
“Would I joke about a matter so serious, Sansa?” Margaery put down her frappuccino then, and leaned over, almost falling out of bed, to haul Sansa on top of her duvet and mounds of cushions. “He moved here from the south, London I believe, and is living with the Targaryens.”   
  
“With Dany?” Jeyne wrinkled her nose.

“No, with her uncle and cousins. At the edge of the Wolfswood.”

“Why with them?”

“They’re related somehow. From my sources, I’ve heard he’s quiet and broody. And doesn’t use his gift openly.”

“It’s the first day,” Sansa said, the turn in the conversation making her feel nervous. “What use could he have for ice manipulation on the first day.”

_Stay away from the Targaryens,_ her father had said. Not that anyone ever saw the Targaryens with any frequency. The twins went to a secluded private school, and Mr Targaryen stayed in his home. From what Sansa knew, only Mrs Targaryen - Elia - was seen in Winterfell very often.

“Icy water. Indoor snowball fight. Use your imagination, he could do anything! He’d definitely do some damage to our resident fiery queen,” Margaery said.

_Gifts are troublesome and not to be trifled with,_ her mother’s voice echoed in her head from the day of the flood at Wintertown. Joffrey’s gift certainly had been _troublesome_ to her _,_ and the thought of that understatement brought a rueful smile to her lips.

Ice powers though, that at least had the power to be beautiful. That couldn’t be the curse other gifts seemed to be. This Jon Snow could create snowflakes, surely, or could form ice into pretty statues, sculpting it as he wished. _That would be a gift I’d want_. 

Her fingers itched then, to hold a pencil and to draw, and as she pulled out her sketchbook and a decent pencil, Sansa found herself asking, “Do you know what he looks like?”  
  
“Ice man?” Jeyne said, giggling, as Margaery responded eagerly, “Shorter than me, gorgeous black curly hair in a man bun, which he seriously works. He’s hot.” She shrugged.

Moving to sit back down on Margaery’s soft green sofa, whilst Margaery started painting Jeyne’s nails black, Sansa sketched.

She drew black curls, serious eyes and snowflakes swirling round the edge of the page. 

  
  
{Jon}

  
  


Snow melted in his palm, as he sat on his motorbike, outside the house.

His home, technically, but it wasn’t. It would never be. _Home was with Lyanna, in the south._

Jon clenched his jaw and ice cloaked his black gloves. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly as he’d been taught to, counting over and over again. _Ten, nine, eight, seven…_

He knew he couldn’t lose control on his first day at Wintertown High School. Not that anything would be able to stop the rumours, he thought bitterly. The Targaryen name was a warning in and of itself, and everyone would know by know that he was living with them.

He just had to survive a year. A year of A Levels, then pass his exams, and then he could get on his motorbike and not return. 

Though he knew, already, it wouldn’t be that simple. When you had a gift, it was never simple.

Checking his watch, he saw it was 8:15; if he didn’t set off soon, he’d be late. The Wolfswood was on the edge of Winterfell and he’d need plenty of time to navigate the traffic and the foreign corridors of Wintertown school.

Elia had said to wait though. That she had something for him.

It unnerved him, as although Elia had never been cruel to him, since he’d arrived in July she’d never shown him affection or attention of any kind. She was polite to her husband’s bastard son, and that was it, nothing more. 

Rhaenys had said, one day when they were hiking yet again through the woods, that she’d never felt hate towards him from her mother, just worry or sometimes anguish. She’d even sensed kinder emotions towards him, but at that, Jon had cut her off and told her to stop using her gift to spy on her own mother.

Rhaenys had nodded, but Jon suspected it was only because she’d been able to sense how unsettled her words made him.

Jon sighed, and tried to calm the brewing storm of nerves and anticipation in him, as he sat, still waiting.

Then, the door clicked open and Elia stepped out, a small box in her hands. Her face was blank, giving nothing anyway, and Jon tapped his finger against his leg.

“These,” Elia said carefully, presenting the pale blue box to him, “are blocking pills.”  
  
Jon’s head snapped up at her words, and he growled low in his throat. “I will not _block_ my gift. I can control it, Elia. God -”

“Aegon said that,” Elia interrupted, thrusting the box at him. “And on his first day at Dragonstone, he burned a hole through the wall and would have burned a lot more, had Rhaenys not sensed him and forced him to take one. Don’t be a fool, Jon. It would be… dangerous, not to.”

Her eyes burned him, and so he took the box, roughly pocketing it before saying, “Do you think I’m dangerous Elia?”  
  
“Gifts are always dangerous.”   
  
Jon nodded tightly, but still stubbornly said, “I can control it.” 

Knowing there was nothing else to say, Jon secured his helmet and sped away, refusing to look back.

The ride to school was a boring one, as he drove into Winterfell past old houses and near-empty shops. It helped clear his head though as the cold wind whipped past him. It was one of the good things about Winterfell - one of the only good things - that it was colder up North than it had been at home. 

Lyanna was from the North, and he had ice in his veins. That, at the very least, made him feel at ease in Winterfell.

After parking up his motorbike, Jon kept his head down as he made his way inside to reception to find out where his form room was: Biology 6, with Mr Mormont.

The map in the planner was practically useless, but ten minutes later Jon walked into room B6.

“You’re late,” the teacher - Mr Mormont surely - said from the front of the classroom.

“I got lost.”  
  
“You must be Jon Snow.”

When Jon nodded, shifting under the heavy stares of the room and the soft whispers, Mr Mormont handed him his timetable and said gruffly, “Be here at 8:45 tomorrow.”  
  


He sat alone at his table, as everyone else had been together in the Sixth Form for a year and so were all already friends. Jon was sure it didn’t help that everyone in Wintertown High School knew who he was, and, more importantly, that he had a gift. Word travels fast in small towns.

“So what’s your gift then, Snow?”

A boy from the table next to him sneered at Jon, looking him up and down, but jolted when the other boy next to him smacked him on the head. 

“Shut it, Theon. Don’t be rude.”  
  
As Theon rubbed the back of his head, Jon looked at the other boy and said, “It’s alright. Everyone will want to know anyway.” _Best to get it over with._ “It’s ice manipulation.”

“Fits with your name then,” Theon said, and the other one said, “That’s impressive. My great grandfather could manipulate metal, but I’ve not heard of anyone controlling ice. I’m Robb, by the way.”

They shook hands, and Theon opened his mouth, but Robb cut him off, saying, “What are your subjects? Same exam boards as down south?”  
  
“Yes,” Jon said, relaxing into his seat more now, distracted from the growing buzz of whispers around him. Robb seemed like a decent guy. A good friend to have, if he didn’t get scared off. “I’m taking history, business, and politics.”   
  
“I’m the same, expect law instead of business. Might be in some of the same classes too.”   
  
Jon noticed Theon frowning when Robb said that. _Of course. Who’d want to spend more time with me than necessary?_

“I’m taking law too,” Theon said, and Robb snorted, “Alright, sports BTEC, cool it.” 

“Lots of people take sports BTEC, you twat.”  
  
“Enough,” called Mr Mormont, looking over at Theon sternly as the bell went. 

Jon spent his free Period 1 in the library, and the whole time, people whispered and glanced at him, and it made his skin itch, and more than once, ice formed at his fingertips.

Would it make it better or worse to create a bloody snowman in the library for everyone to gawk at?

For History he had Mr Glover, and the rough looking teacher hardly spared a glance at him as he walked in a few minutes late. There weren’t many seats left, but Jon could have grinned when he saw a seat beside Sam Tarly, the gods clearly smiling on him for once.

He’d met Sam at the Winterfell Library and, in spite of Jon’s gift, they’d bonded over history and the desire to escape their homes for the long months of summer.

If he was with Sam for some of his lessons, Jon hoped he wouldn’t feel the same urge to bury the school in six feet of snow to shut everyone up. He’d learned as a child that when you only have a couple of friends, you couldn’t cover them in ice or snow. They didn’t appreciate it.

“How you finding everything then?” Sam said cheerily, and Jon shrugged, crossing his arms. 

“It’ll get better, I promise. Most of the time, people don’t care who has a gift and who doesn’t.”

“Until I freeze someone.”

Sam chuckled. “I wouldn’t advise that, Jon.”

Mr Glover was not an inspiring teacher, and although Jon loved history, hearing him drone on about Margaret Thatcher’s economic policies in the 1980s was making him want to bang his head on the desk. 

Just one year, and it’ll be over.

Finally, it was lunchtime, and as they joined the queue for food, Sam kept on chattering to Jon about Wintertown and its traditions, and Jon tried to focus on him, but it proved difficult with the muttering and whispering going on around him. It was as if people had never heard of gifts before he arrived.

They had just sat down together when Sam asked, “How do you know Robb Stark?

The question caught Jon off-guard, and he stuttered, “Wh - what?”  
  
“Robb Stark just waved at you, but you didn’t see,” - Sam raised his hand and vigorously waved at someone over Jon’s shoulder, - “He’s coming over!”

“Hello Sam, Jon,” Robb said, sliding into the empty chair next to Jon. Theon sat opposite them, grunting his hello.

Frost covered Jon’s trousers where his hand was - _Robb Stark,_ Sam had said. Rhaegar had told him many times over the summer that the Starks weren’t friends of the Targaryens and he should stay away from them. Rhaegar had said they despised people with gifts. That they weren’t to be trusted.

That didn’t seem to be true, but Jon knew he had to check.

“You’re a Stark?” Jon asked Robb, and Robb’s mouth quirked into half a smile. 

“Yes. I’m not used to being asked so aggressively about it.”  
  
“You gonna freeze his balls off?” Theon said.

“Depends,” Jon answered, looking at Robb levelly. The smile fell from Robb’s face, and wariness flashed in his eyes. 

“On what?”  
  
“On whether Rhaegar Targaryen has been honest with me. I doubt he has been.”   
  
“What has your father said?”  
  
“That the Starks are untrustworthy. That they hate people with gifts.”  
  
“Lies,” Robb said confidently.

“Fuck him,” added Theon.

“He also told me to keep my distance from the Starks.” Jon looked at Robb, and smirked slightly. “I never have liked listening to him.”

“Teen rebellion, fathers suck,” Theon said around a mouth full of food, “Except Mr Stark, course.” 

“I’d have to challenge you to a duel if you disrespected Ned Stark,” Robb said, before saying to Jon, “You’re always welcome at the Stark house.”  
  
“We’ve just met, you don’t even know me,” Jon said quietly. People must be friendlier up North. Or Robb must be really dumb. It was still odd, either way, to be welcomed so easily.   
  
“What can I say,” Robb shrugged, “You seem like you need friends and the Starks have a tendency to pick up strays. It’s why we have five huskies.”

“Five!” Sam said in shock, and they spent the rest of lunch discussing the trouble the Starks and their dogs got into, and the Targaryens weren't mentioned again.

  
  
“You didn’t feel as angry as I’d expected, when you got back from school,” Rhaenys said, as Jon passed the living room door that evening.

Leaning against the door frame, Jon said, “I was fine. Met some nice people.”  
  
“I’m pleased for you,” she said, curling up under her blanket on the sofa and smiling up at him. “Any problems with…”   
  
“No,” Jon said, and he remembered the blocking pills Elia had given him, which were burning a hole in his jacket.

Rhaenys nodded, and Jon left her there, retreating to his bedroom. It was still bare, with empty walls and almost-empty shelves. He’d chosen to stay hidden away in his room when he’d first arrived, and had spent hours creating patterns of ice, filling the wall by his bed, stretching like a spider’s web to the ceiling. A safe place of his own.

Now, it felt like he was locked in his room, with nowhere else to go, slowly suffocating him. 

It felt wrong to be here, to be in Rhaegar and Elia’s house in a northern town he didn’t know, somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be at all.

_Damn,_ he needed a job to escape to until he could escape more permanently on his bike. Or some friends to visit, if they’d let him. Thoughts of the Starks and their huskies flashed across his mind, and he almost ached for it. _Lyanna had promised they’d get a dog,_ he thought, _when she was out of hospital, when she was in complete remission._

One year to go. He just had to not freeze anyone or bury the school in an avalanche. He could do it.

He had to.   
  



	2. Chapter 2

✨

{Sansa}

“Can you start the salad Sansa?” Catelyn asked, brushing past her as she went to put the lasagne in the oven.

“Sure, of course,” Sansa said, reaching into the fridge to pull out the lettuce and cucumber she’d need.

Ever since she'd been tall enough to reach the counter tops, Sansa had helped her mother in the kitchen, knowing even then that as much as her mother loved to cook for the whole family, it could be difficult for her to do so on her own. Sansa had wanted to be a part of it, had wanted to help, and as time had gone on, it had been settled in the Stark household that Sansa was always the one to help Catelyn cook and tidy and clean.

As much as she sometimes resented it, seeing Arya lying on the sofa and Robb glued to his computer as she helped every night, Sansa knew it helped Catelyn, that it made her mother happier. So she stayed silent, as she’d never say anything that would distress her mother if she could help it. She just bit her lip, pushed her sparks of frustration aside, and did what everyone expected of her.

It wasn’t all just chopping and stiring - their time together in the kitchen was often spent talking, just the two of them. With four siblings, time alone with one of her parents was rare and Sansa knew she should cherish it.

But sometimes, she just felt she could do without her mother’s endless questions. Tonight, she was tired and fragile, as though her skin could, at any moment, fracture and break apart, leaving her open and bleeding.

“Have you spoken to that nice boy again? In your form, Dickon Tarly?” Catelyn asked over her shoulder.

When Sansa stayed quiet, Catelyn hummed as she stood, and said, “You haven’t spoken about any other boys since you broke up with Joffrey...”

Sansa avoided her mother’s eyes then, when she spoke of Joffrey. As much as she tried to hide it, even though they’d technically broken up months ago, Joffrey’s name still made her heart clench, and she pressed her hands against the counter to stop herself curling her nails into her palms.

“Yes, mum,” Sansa said quietly, pulling her hair from behind her ear to shield herself. “We’ve spoken a little. Dickon is fine. It’s not important though.”

“You know your grades won’t suffer from you having a boyfriend if you are sensible, Sansa.”

 _Sansa Stark not being sensible? Shocking._ Sansa gritted her teeth.

“I need three As, mum,” Sansa said as she started to make the salad dressing.

“Of course you’ll get three As, darling. Is that what most law courses require?”

Sansa knew that she would need three As to do law at Oxford. And three As to do fine art.

“Yes,” she simply said, and went to set the table, her head starting to ache.

Throughout dinner, Arya was rowdy in her tales about her friends - who Sansa had not yet been allowed to meet - and Robb spoke enthusiastically to Catelyn about some project he had been set in History. All the while, Sansa picked at her food in silence. Rickon chatted to her, but she only smiled and nodded when it was called for, half-listening.

She was two weeks into Year 12, and they had been fine, she was fine, but Sansa couldn’t silence the din of her thoughts, which had been rushing through her mind since talking with Catelyn - thoughts of how her mother had yet to say _anything_ when she saw Sansa’s sketchbook, of Baelish and his wide smile, of the boyfriends she’d once wished for, of Joffrey and Dickon…

Joffrey had spoken to her in the corridor that day, as she’d waited for Margaery and Jeyne before lunch. She’d flinched when he’d lifted his hand, and he had smiled when he noticed. He’d told her he’d get her phone number soon enough, and it would be just like old times.

Dickon hadn’t spoken to her for days. Not that it really mattered to her, as she’d sworn _never again_ , but...

“Earth to Sansa? Hellllooo!”

She blinked, and looked up at Arya due to her shouts - “Pardon?”

“I said, if you had been listening _at all,_ ” - Arya heaved a sigh - “have you met Jon yet?”   
  
“No,” Sansa said quickly, pulled back to the present, “I hardly know what he looks like.” 

“I was thinking of inviting him round tomorrow, so we could work on our project together,” Robb said, looking to each of the Starks in turn. “He’s a good guy, if a bit broody.”  
  
“Oh, because you never brood,” Arya muttered, as Catelyn said, frowning, “You just said he is gifted. And lives with the Targaryens.”   
  
“A cool gift though!” Rickon said excitedly, and Sansa squeezed his hand, and Robb looked at Catelyn with confusion plain on his face, saying, “He’s still a good guy, mum. It wouldn’t do us any harm to let him come over.”

Catelyn pursed her lips and glanced at Ned who was sitting silently at the head of the table - “Well?”

Ned cleared his throat and said, “I don’t encourage seeking out connections to Rhaegar Targaryen, but if this Jon Snow can control his gift and is your friend, if you trust him and like him, I see no reason why he should not visit.”  
  
He fixed Robb with a direct, searching look, and as Robb nodded, smiling gratefully and softly saying, “Thank you, father,” Sansa’s spiralling thoughts slowed as she thought of Jon Snow, who she now may soon meet.

Margaery had taken it upon herself to constantly report titbits of gossip to Sansa after seeing the rough sketch of him in her sketchbook - Sansa knew he was shorter than she was, was close to a boy called Sam who was Dickon’s older brother, and that he rode a motorbike. 

That last piece of gossip had made Sansa blush for some reason, as Jeyne and Margaery squealed over it on the way home from school, talking about bad boys and their leather jackets.

From what Margaery knew, no one had yet seen his gift.

“We shall see tomorrow then,” Catelyn said sharply and Sansa stood as her mother did, helping her collect the dirty plates.

When they both reemerged from the kitchen, Catelyn carrying the fruit salad and Sansa carrying the chocolate cake she had made for Rickon the day before, Jon Snow was still the topic of conversation, as Sansa heard Bran say, “So you’ve not seen his gift then?”

Robb shrugged. “I’ve seen it a little. The most I saw was when Theon called him Elsa and he froze Theon’s phone to the desk.”

“Anyone who fucks with Theon is a friend of mine,” Arya grinned, and Catelyn scolded her for her language as Robb unsuccessfully tried to hide his smile.

“What project is it?” Sansa asked, to divert her family’s attention to less contentious ground. She could be doing a similar project next year as well, so it would be good to know.

“The development of Marxism in Russia.”

“Thrilling,” Bran muttered.

“It could be worse,” Robb said, “At least I’m partnered with Jon, who’ll actually do something. His friend Sam is partnered with Grenn who’ll just sit there.”

“Sam Tarly?” Sansa asked, and could have kicked herself as she noticed Catelyn sitting up straighter.

Robb nodded.

“Isn’t your Dickon a Tarly, Sansa?” Catelyn asked, tilting her head, and Sansa closed her eyes briefly, breathing deeply, as her younger siblings snickered, the calmness she had begun feeling rapidly melting away.

“ _Your_ Dickon, Sansa?” Arya said airily, fluttering her eyelashes at her across the table.

As Arya laughed loudly, Sansa’s stomach swooped and her head ached and she shoved her chair back and stood up abruptly, saying, “Yes, mum, Dickon is his younger brother,” before striding out of the dining room and up the stairs to her bedroom, with Lady following closely behind her.

It was stupid, but she often was, and Sansa felt tears building behind her eyes as she ran her fingers through Lady’s soft fur. God, she couldn’t even stand her siblings teasing her, and she’d only been in Sixth Form for two weeks.

She couldn’t do this. She had to do this.

 _All will be well,_ she told herself.

Sansa sat cross legged on her bed and roughly pulled her hair into a ponytail. Then, she reached for her black marker. Turning to a new page, she bit her lip and started to draw something, anything, laying down lines of black, one after another. The need to cry subsided and in its place, Sansa felt foolish, hiding in her room, having stomped off like a child who just needed to have a nap.

She leaned back against the wall. She knew she tended to overthink things, and she knew her thoughts would rush past and swirl around her, until she couldn’t see past them, as if she was stuck in a snow storm and all she could see was white.

She’d grown to think like that when she was with Joffrey. If she made a mistake, if she didn’t think of every option and chosen the exact right words or actions, he would hurt her.

All he had to do was touch her and pain would light her skin, sparking from his hands.

Sansa wrung her hands and closed her eyes, and she counted her breaths, her head still aching.

Picking up her sketchbook again, Sansa decided to write a list:

1) A Levels are the most important thing.

2) Dickon was just a boy. It wasn’t worth it. Let it go.

3) Joffrey.

4) Mr Baelish.

It didn’t help, writing it down. She knew Arya did it, with the names of people she hated at any given time. She couldn’t fight them as Arya tended to do, so what could she do, except endure it?

_Porcelain to ivory to steel._

Sansa crumpled up the paper. She’d burn it later.

Two knocks on her door, and Sansa saw auburn curls poke round her door.

“Hey, Robb.” She pulled the hair bobble out of her hair so it could fall around her, hiding her face for the second time that evening, her hands once again coming to rest on Lady’s coat so they didn’t tremble in her lap.

“Hey, San, can I come in?”

She nodded and he closed the door behind him and went to sit on her desk chair. His forehead was creased and his eyes were gentle, and she could see the concern plainly within them. She didn’t deserve an older brother like him.

“Talk to me,” he said, taking one of her hands in both of his, gently rubbing her palm.

When Joffrey was at his worst, he had seen the state of her palms, the indents and the blood. He now often took her hand and checked it, kissing her forehead when he let go.

“It’s nothing, Robb.” It burned to say it, but it was still the easiest thing to say.

“It’s okay, San. You can tell me.”

She opened her mouth but her tongue was heavy, and she couldn’t. Robb held her hand tighter.

“If it’s Joffrey,” he said, “I want you to tell me. Straight away. He’s done hurting you.”

Sansa could hear the threat buried in his voice, that he would march to the Baratheon estate and tear it down brick by brick if she said so.

“I will, Robb,” she lied, and when she looked up and met his eyes, the sadness in them told her that he knew she wouldn’t.

“If there’s anything else, let me know,” he said firmly and just then, Rickon barrelled into her room, yet again forgetting to knock. Seeing them both, he jumped up and down and said, “It’s movie time, come on!”

“Yes, Rickon, we’re coming, right now,” she said, taking Rickon’s hand and not letting go of Robb’s.

When they were downstairs, Sansa went to make popcorn as Robb joined in the argument Bran and Arya were having over where they wanted to sit. Every week they would argue and every week, Ned would sit down in the best armchair and tell them to just sit anywhere, and they would all grumble whilst she would sit on the floor with Rickon, with Lady and Shaggydog beside them.

“Are you feeling alright, love?” Catelyn asked as Sansa emptied the popcorn into several bowls.

“Always,” Sansa responded.

It was Bran’s choice of movie this week, and he chose Star Wars, despite the fact that both he and Robb could recite the film off by heart. As they watched, Sansa combed her hands through Rickon’s hair and leaned against her father’s legs. Every once in awhile, he would rest a hand on her shoulder and squeeze it lightly.

It was just the stress of a new year that was making her like this, she thought. Or it was hormones. Or only getting five hours of sleep the night before. She was fine.

_All will be well._

Rickon snuggled into her side in his sleep and she woke him when the credits started rolling, saying, “Time for bed, little wolf.”

“Not little,” he said, his voice rough but insistent.

She kissed Ned and Catelyn goodnight, and Robb hugged her fiercely, and then she took Rickon up to bed, reading and singing to him until he slept once more.

In her own bed, when she checked her phone, she saw Margaery had texted her.

[Margaery]

Babe, can I come by yours tomorrow afternoon???

[Sansa]

Sure.

Jon Snow might be here then.

[Margaery]

ICE MAN IS COMING TO YOUR HOUSE?!!

Well I am defo coming.

We both need to pick our sexiest outfits.

You, for Snow, and me for your brother ;)

[Sansa]

Marge!! No!

[Margaery]

No stop hitting on your brother?

Or no I don’t have a super obvious crush on ice man?

[Sansa]

I don’t know Jon at all, how can I have a crush on him?

[Margaery]

It’s the motorbike and brooding stare Sansa.

Irresistible.

[Sansa]

I’m going to bed, text me when you’re going to arrive tomorrow.

[Margaery]

I’ll bring the coffees <3

Sansa shook her head at Margaery – it wouldn’t surprise her if she turned up wearing her most revealing dress in the middle of autumn when it will probably be raining.

At least Margaery would be a good distraction from everything. Sighing, Sansa rubbed her eyes and finally went to bed, hoping she’d feel better come morning.

{Jon}

Standing outside the Stark’s house in the fancier part of Winterfell, Jon felt himself starting to sweat a little at the prospect of meeting the Starks, regretting accepting Robb’s offer so eagerly. 

He believed Robb and knew the Starks weren’t all that Rhaegar had said they were, but it made sense for any normal family to be wary of someone who wasn’t like them, who wasn’t ‘normal’. Hopefully, the Starks would tolerate him. That would help things.

Jon double checked his bike was safely parked out of the way and let some snow fall from his fingertips before fisting his hands. 

Robb is his friend. Visiting each other’s houses is what friends did. 

_Just don’t get too attached._

Jon set his shoulders and walked to the door, gripping his bag. He knocked firmly twice and immediately heard the patter of dogs racing to the door, and the voice of someone screeching from inside saying that they were coming.

The door was pulled opened slightly and a girl peeked out as several huskies wedged their noses in the crack.

“Yep, hi,” she said, “You’re Jon?”  
  
Jon said, “Yeah,” and she opened the door wider, the huskies barking and crowding round his legs as he stepped inside.

“They’re a bit wild,” she said, locking the door and Jon reached down the scratch the dog nuzzling his leg. “I’m Arya.”

“Hello,” Jon said and awkwardly shifted as Arya screamed up the stairs, “ROBB!”

The Stark house was nice, he thought - light and open and clearly lived in, with children’s drawings scattering the walls and bags and shoes piled beside the door. 

Rhaegar and Elia’s house felt different, colder, at least to him.

“Hey Jon,” Robb called over the banisters, coming down the stairs two at a time. “We’re going to work in the dining room, give me a minute. This is Arya, by the way.”

Arya rolled her eyes and said, “Get with it Robb, he already knows,” and started shepherding the huskies further into the house.

“Good afternoon Jon,” an older woman said from the kitchen doorway, appraising him with cutting, blue eyes. 

“Mrs Stark,” he said, half-tripping over the dog still circling his heels and shaking her hand. She withdrew her own hand and rubbed it on her jumper before retreating away from him.

Perhaps she’d felt the chill of his palm. Or perhaps it was the Targaryen brand he carried wherever he went in Winterfell. Perhaps not. Maybe all mothers except his own were always going to hate him. _Great._

At the kitchen table, sat a young boy with scruffy black hair, hunched over a piece of paper, scrawling over it with a black marker, and two girls. One was on her phone, sipping coffee and chatting animatedly at the same time with the girl next to her, who was painting.

From the doorway, Jon couldn’t see the picture she was creating, but he could see a vivid shade of blue spreading across the page and black swirls in the centre. Jon didn’t move from where he stood by the doorway as he looked at her, his eyes catching on her hair, kissed by fire and held up in a bun by a pen, and her hands were covered in paint, blue and black and even red.

He needed to stop staring at her, but before he could, her eyes lifted and met his.

Jon felt something burst between them, energy sparking as they stared at each other and ice began to spread over his fingertips and down his spine.

It was like electricity, and Jon found he couldn’t even blink.

Her eyes were as blue as the paint on the page and were a similar shade to Mrs Stark's. So, this must be Sansa.

 _Robb’s sister._ That made Jon jolt and avert his eyes, shaking himself from whatever _that_ was and scratching one of the huskies ears again.

“Everyone, this is Jon!” Arya shouted, and then every eye in the room was on him and Jon shrank from them. The stares of the Starks were heavier than those of strangers, and their momentary silence somehow made him miss the constant whispering in Wintertown’s busy corridors.

“Jon, can you build a snowman for us?!” The young boy would have jumped up, Jon thought, but Sansa held him down with a hand on his shoulder and gently hushed him, saying, “Rickon, we spoke about this.” 

“It’s - it’s alright,” he said, the words tumbling from him when the boy - Rickon, she’d said, - had deflated at his sister’s words. Jon held out his hand and curled up his fingers, and moving his hand round and round. A tiny snowman formed in his palm and then he sent it floating unsteadily across the kitchen into Rickon’s awaiting hands.

The way the surrounding Starks gasped and Rickon squealed when the snow landed in his palms made Jon stand taller, daring them to say or do something now they could see what he could do, what his gift meant. They scrutinised him more closely, clearing judging him.

“Wow!” Rickon said, cupping the miniature snowman and crushing it, and Arya said, “That’s so fucking cool, I wish I had a gift!”  
  
“Don’t swear, Arya,” Sansa said, pushing back from the table, and Jon could see the rigid set of her shoulders. “My name is Sansa. Would you like anything to drink?”

She was playing the perfect hostess but wouldn’t look him in the eye.

“No, thank you,” he said, and from over his shoulder, Robb said, startling him, “No, Jon just melts ice in his mouth and drinks that.”

“Really?!” Rickon turned to him with wide eyes, the snowman now fully crumbled.

Before he could open his mouth to reply, Arya cut in and said, “Don’t be dumb Rickon, he eats ice for breakfast, he doesn’t drink it.”

“I thought solid ice was more of an evening meal,” the other girl added, and Sansa shushed them all and said to Rickon, “They’re teasing. I’m sure Jon doesn’t do any of that.”  
  
“Only sometimes,” he said.

Sansa still didn’t look at him. He realised he wanted her to. What _had_ that been between them? 

“Well this had been lovely,” Robb said, slinging his arm round Jon’s shoulders, “But we’ve got A Levels to study for.”

“If you get anything above a B I’ll be surprised,” the brown haired girl said, and Jon felt Robb shift to face her and say, “Love, it’s all As or nothing.”  
  
“Come on Margaery,” Sansa said, arms full of paper and paint, and this Margaery _winked_ at Robb and sauntered away. Jon could have sworn he saw Sansa blushing as she followed her friend.

“I dibs Jon for any and all snowball fights now and forever more,” Arya said and once she’d punched Rickon in the arm, disappeared into the house. Siblings really were the same, no matter what family you were apart of. The teasing in the Stark household just didn’t end with anything being burnt or frozen.

“Go and join Bran in the playroom,” Robb ordered Rickon, and the youngest Stark binned his picture and promptly left with a husky on his heels and the beginnings of a scowl on his face.

“Right so,” Robb said, pointing to the dining table at the other side of the room, already strewn with paper and presumably Robb’s history books and folders. After a year of A Levels, the amount of notes they’d both collected must amount to several trees worth of paper. Aegon had sworn he’d burn all of his the moment he’d finished his final exam.

It didn’t take them long to get on with the project Glover had set them, to test their understanding of Marxism which Jon didn’t exactly mind, but it wasn’t his favourite aspect of the course. The use of gifts in the revolution and the speculation of who had them was more his speciality. He had to remember to read into it more - that would help fill his evenings when he wasn’t riding his motorbike, so he didn’t end up icing Rhaegar just for breathing.

Although Jon knew Robb was smart, just from the grade he’d received in the first two weeks, working with him made Jon tap his fingers against his leg as he felt the sinking feeling in his stomach grow. History was his best subject, and yet…

_Not that it matters anyway. After the last exam, it won’t matter._

He couldn't help but think, though, that it would have mattered to Lyanna.

It was thoughts of her and the way they pulled him further into the dark, into the ice, that made Jon ask hurriedly, “Is your family always like that?”

Robb put aside the textbook he’d been studying and grinned. “All the time. It’s chaos. It drives mum mad during the holidays.”

“Huh,” Jon said, tracing snowflakes onto the back of his hand where they gleamed for a moment before melting. “It… seems nice.”  
  
“I wouldn’t trade it for anything.” Robb settled his chin on his hands and said, “You’ve got a brother and a sister though, it must be the same. Especially with - you know.”   
  
“Half brother and sister,” Jon corrected, out of the habit Elia had instilled in him over the summer. “The gifts just make the fights more interesting.”   
  
Robb couldn’t mask the excitement building in his eyes when he asked, “Who wins?”

“Depends,” Jon shrugged, running a hand through his hair. It was him, usually, but he didn’t want Robb to know that just yet. “Ice is less destructive, so I fight better inside.”  
  
  


“Please refrain from fighting anyone inside.”

Mrs Stark’s voice, though soft, still rang out from where she stood at the kitchen island, and Jon clenched his teeth and kept staring at the page in front of him. _As if I was going to fight any of the Starks, inside or outside._

“Of course not, mum,” Robb replied easily. “I was wondering if Jon could come back, for dinner, some time next week? Rickon and Arya like him.”

Mrs Stark was silent and the only sound filling the room was the clinking of glasses and the closing of cupboards before she said slowly, “Ask your father.”

Once she’d left the room, Jon said, “Thanks, but it’s okay, Robb.”

Robb hadn’t started writing again and seemed to be angry, his eyebrows furrowed. “No, it’s not. She’s not like that with everyone else. But she’ll warm up to you.”

“Not everyone does.”

It was quiet again then, and one of the huskies chose to nudge their head onto Jon’s head, seeking out pats and ear scratches which Jon gladly gave. 

“Come to dinner next Friday.”

Robb’s voice offered no chance for argument and so Jon agreed. He could put up with Rhaegar so he could put up with Mrs Stark to see more of the Starks and their dogs. Neither Rhaegar or Mrs Stark, it would seem, would be happy about it, but that was a small price for Jon to pay.

“I can always ask Sansa to invite Margaery round too, to distract mum.”

 _Sansa._ When they’d made eye contact... it was more than just a feeling, it was something else. Rhaenys might know, if he could stoop to ask her. 

Then, remembering Margaery’s wink at Robb earlier, Jon grinned at him and said, “Having Margaery over will be such a trial for you.”  
  
“I hardly know to what you are implying.”

Satisfied with the hint of a blush spreading on Robb’s cheeks, Jon resumed his work on their project, crushing the icicles that had grown from his fingers with one hand.

  
  


{Sansa} 

  
Now that she’d seen him, properly, Sansa felt the same itch to draw him again. When Margaery had gone home, Sansa rushed to pull out her water colours and fineliners, desperate to start painting and drawing as soon as she could.

There had been a… _moment_ , when they’d looked at each other and Sansa had felt a spark flow between them, like lightning. It was ridiculous, but Sansa still felt herself blush at it.

It didn’t help that she found Jon Snow quite handsome, as she suspected she might from all the descriptions she’d heard of him. Margaery had been quick to point that fact out to her as they ran up to her bedroom earlier that afternoon, but Sansa hadn’t needed the assistance. She had eyes after all.

It was all ridiculous, but Sansa still _needed_ to draw him immediately. It was a perfect distraction for her.

Sansa had tried to sketch Dickon the day before, tried to pull the exact contours of his face and the shade of his eyes from her mind, but it had been blank apart from the barest of details. Dickon was just a boy, who looked like every other handsome boy.

When she thought of Jon, his features came to her mind’s eye easily.

Around the outline of his curls, Sansa drew out snowflakes, arching across the remaining white space. His gift had been as beautiful as she’d imagined and it had made Rickon laugh, which made it even more of a gift to her than it was a curse.

When she was as content with her pencil outline as she could be, Sansa filled a cup with water from her ensuite and mixed her watercolours to match the shade of his eyes and lips, and to try and make real the way ice glimmers with the perfect shade of blue.

Half way through painting his curls, Sansa’s phone buzzed insistently on the window sill and, without thought, she reached for it, seeing Jeyne’s face on the phone screen. As she did, the water pot was tipped over by her sleeve and it tilted and Sansa _knew_ it would get everywhere, that it would ruin her painting and she shot her hand out towards it.

The cup stopped moving. The water was suspended in the air above the paper, drops quivering above the fresh paint.

Her hands shook and Sansa blinked, but the water remained held in place, as if lifted up by strings, as if frozen in place.

It couldn’t be real.

Sansa jolted backwards, and the water splashed down onto the page, smudging and ruining her work.

She started to rock backwards and forwards on her chair, her hands cradling her head. _It wasn’t real. It’s the stress, I’m losing it. The water didn’t pause in the air, it just fell. It just fell._

But Sansa knew it had hovered above her painting. Knew it had done so when she held out her hand.

As her whole body shook with the thoughts pounding in her skull, the fineliners on the edge of her desk began to shake too and her phone rang yet again and Sansa heard it fall to the floor, and everything only stopped shaking when Lady pressed her nose into Sansa’s thigh and whined.

She sobbed then and crumpled to the floor, burying her face in Lady’s fur.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

✨

{Sansa}

  
  
  


The next day, Sansa couldn’t get out of bed.

She could only stare at her desk, where her ruined picture lay, smothered in water. Water which had been held still above it for the longest few seconds of Sansa’s life.

The image of it was burned into her mind and she couldn’t shake the memory of the tingling feeling she’d felt spreading from her fingertips when she’d reached out her hand, pulled forward on impulse.

Lady had stayed beside her, letting her grip her fur and soak it with her tears, and she’d stayed there until she’d heard heavy footsteps on the stairs, coming closer. Sansa had wrenched herself up of the floor and onto her duvet, wildly pulling a book off her nightstand and pretending to read it through her tears in case anyone came in. No one did.

Through the door, the shouts and footfalls of her family drifted in, and Sansa looked at the clock. 10:05am. It was unusual for her to be in bed this long and for no one, not even Rickon, to have come and checked on her. She felt as though she was slipping away…

The handle on her door twisted and Arya stuck her head round it, immediately frowning upon seeing she was still under the covers.

“Sansa, what’s wrong?”

 _My face must give it all away,_ Sansa thought, _for Arya to have noticed, to be so serious this early on a Sunday._

“I just feel ill, Arya,” Sansa croaked, “I need to rest and I’ll be fine.”  
  
Arya stared at her, suspicion bright in her eyes as she kept frowning. The last time she’d been ill was months ago, when she was still Joffrey’s girlfriend. 

“I’ll be fine, Arya.”

“I’m getting mum,” Arya said firmly, and she disappeared. Lady whined and nosed at the door, which was still partly open, and Sansa told her to go. 

Alone again, Sansa rolled onto her back and clasped her hands across her middle, staring up at the ceiling.

It couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be real that she has a gift. _But I do have one, I saw it._

Her hands started to shake again, and Sansa regretted letting Lady slip out, suddenly needing to occupy her hands to distract herself from the building _feeling_ in them; it was like pins and needles but it ebbed and flowed from finger to finger and intensified with every hard beat of her heart. 

She breathed in slowly. Counted up to ten and back.

There was no point avoiding it, she knew that, but the truth made her stomach roll because if she was gifted, if she truly had powers, _then what?_ Sansa bit her lip and drew blood.

“Darling, Arya said you feel ill,” Catelyn said, as she came into her room and rested a cool hand on her forehead. Sansa closed her eyes at her mother’s touch then drew back slightly.

As if a safe was being closed, Sansa crushed her thoughts which lingered on the sodden painting on her desk and the tingling sensation in her fingertips, locking them away so her mother’s keen eyes wouldn’t know. Not just yet.

“Yes,” Sansa said quietly, “May I have some paracetamol?”  
  
“Of course. Do you need to go to see Doctor Luwin?”

Sansa shook her head, and Catelyn said, “You can stay at home whilst we visit Lysa if you would prefer. Who would you like to stay with you?”  
  
“I’ll be fine, mother.”   
  
“Your father can stay with you,” Catelyn decided, frowning and touching Sansa’s forehead again. In that moment, Sansa felt it swell within her, the need to share her secret, this gift she may have. Her mother would understand, surely.

“Mum, Rickon has stolen Bran’s glasses again!” Arya shouted, and Catelyn moved away before Sansa could say a word. 

“We won’t be long, I’ll make you some soup later darling.”

And with that, Sansa was left alone again.

Her father came to check on her some time later, his usually solemn face further creased with concern, and Sansa accepted the cup of lemon tea her gently passed to her and didn’t move away when he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

The tea was burning hot, scolding her mouth as she sipped it, but she kept drinking, trying to savour the taste.  
  


Placing the mug on her nightstand, she got changed slowly, pulling on her most comfortable leggings and a faded hoodie. Sansa sat at her desk then, and stared down at it, tracing her spoiled painting, the water on it now dry.

If… if it was real, Sansa thought, if she had truly _stopped water and a cup in midair_ , she would have to…

But Sansa came up short, her heart squeezing painfully in her chest and vision fading out for a moment before she forced herself to drag more air into her lungs.

What could she do? What next?

She could… she could…

Her thoughts stumbled over one another and Sansa could feel the panic from the night before slamming against her ribs as her eyes remained fixed on the painting where the water had smudged it, making the snowflakes run, as if melting away.

_Snowflakes._

Jon Snow. His gift… wasn’t a curse. She’d decided that upon seeing Rickon’s laughter yesterday.

Jon.... could control it, could use it as he wished. If it was true, if she was… then she could control it too.

Sansa let go of her hair and sat up straight in her desk chair.

What good had panicking done her when she was with Joffrey? What good had it done her last week when Mr Baelish had touched her elbow and leaned in too close? 

_Stop being pathetic,_ she scolded herself, forcibly reigning in her thoughts and fisting her hands to stop them shaking. _You are Sansa Stark. Starks do not tremble._

The jam jar she’d stuffed with pencils must have been tipped over yesterday, and Sansa eyed it, an idea unfolding in her mind the more she looked at it. There was no point worrying over anything without proof. Think of it like… like a court case - she’d need proof that would stand up in a court of law. Was she innocent or guilty of being gifted.

One pencil had slid further over the desk than the others. Sansa stared at it and lifted her hand up, reaching for it, mimicking what she thought she’d done before.

The tingling sensation washed over her hands again, prickling across her fingertips, and an iron band closed round Sansa’s ribs and she couldn’t _breathe_ as the feeling in her fingers somehow expanded out. She could feel it stretching, as though her very skin was going to be torn away, and the pencil sat there and Sansa leaned in and saw it shaking as her hands were shaking too.

But the pencil wouldn’t move, it wouldn’t shift from where it lay at the edge of one of her notebooks. _It wouldn’t move._

Sansa jerked her hand away, tucking it close to her chest as the feeling evaporated and the pencil was still.

Sitting there, Sansa could feel her cheeks were wet with tears she hadn’t noticed falling. The panic and worry she’d felt was still there but, unbelievably, was now made worse as a feeling - which she refused to call disappointment - settled over her. Perhaps she wasn’t gifted after all… it hadn’t moved.

But then…

She just had more questions now, the prospect of having a gift no longer sending her mind into a flurry of panic - she now wanted to know _why,_ why hadn’t it moved? It had been shaking, she was sure of it. Was it her, could she not do anything right?

With her frustration bubbling up, Sansa clasped her hands in her lap and tried to think logically, tried to think slowly. 

She’d have to try again. So she could know for sure and deal with it. No one needs to know.

Sansa looked down at her hands as she wrung them together. They still looked the same. No jagged lines or dark marks. If she did have a gift, you wouldn’t know from looking at her. 

It would be just another secret, Sansa thought, just another thing to lock away in a box and keep to herself. If she could survive everything else, she could survive this too.

The sound of the front door slamming made Sansa jolt away from her desk and she rushed to sit back on her bed, as if someone might see her at her desk and somehow just _know_. 

No doubt, her mother would come and see her soon to try and ply her with food or hot lemon tea, trying to make up for this morning. Catelyn never liked it when her children were ill or injured, suffering as much as they did - when Bran had first come home from the hospital, after his fall, Catelyn hadn’t moved from his bedside for days, and when Arya fractured her arm playing football, Catelyn had smothered her so much, Arya threatened to leap from the window to escape her mother’s attention. 

It was Rickon though who came in first, with Robb on his heels. Rickon swung the door open and scrambled up onto the bed as soon as he got through the door. Robb was slower, but came to sit beside her all the same.

“You don’t look ill,” Rickon said, squinting at her before shaking his head. Sansa chuckled, hoping it didn’t sound as nervous as she thought it did. Robb was squinting at her too, scanning her for injuries it seemed, his eyes lingering on her palms.

“I don’t feel so bad now,” Sansa replied, ruffling Rickon’s wild curls. He squirmed at her affectionate touch, but still smiled up at her.

“Aunt Lysa was the same as always,” Robb said.

“Yep, just a little crazy and not totally bonkers,” Arya said, plonking herself down in the doorway. “You totally missed out.”

“I’m grateful for all your concern, but it’s alright.”

“Who said we were concerned?” Arya quipped.

Ignoring her, Robb said, “Mum got angry at Aunt Lysa, so is now aggressively making soup in the kitchen.”  
  
“And we wanted to avoid her,” Rickon added, though quickly said, “And make sure you were feeling better.”   
  
“I am. Feeling better,” Sansa said, and, when none of her siblings moved, continued, saying, “You don’t need to stay.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “Alright, we get the message.”

She grabbed Rickon’s hand and dragged him from the room, saying something about football practise in the garden. Robb stayed though, and kept looking at her steadily.

“You sure you’re alright, Sansa?”  
  
She laid her head on his shoulder a moment and said, “I am, or at least, will be soon. I’m going to take another paracetamol.”

“I’ll bring it up,” he said, and he did, a minute or so later, Lady following him and coming to rest her head in her lap as Robb patted her shoulder and left, shutting the door quietly.

Once she’d eaten the soup Catelyn had thrust at her, Sansa plaited her hair and breathed slowly to calm her heartbeat. Her door was locked and Lady was left with treats downstairs so she wouldn’t be disturbed by her whines. She had to know if it was true, and if so, what it was.

Maybe that would explain whatever had sparked between her and Jon Snow? Perhaps…

Her phone buzzed on her nightstand just as she was readying herself to try and move or shake or lift the pencil sitting at the foot of her bed.

Sighing, Sansa reached for it automatically, the tingling sensation in her fingers subsiding. She didn’t want to lie to Margaery or Jeyne about _this_ but she would have to at some point, if it was real.

The number wasn’t one she recognised though, which was odd. Everyone Sansa knew or would ever want to speak to was already in her contacts list.

Typing in her password, Sansa opened her messages.

[07720 905714]

I said I’d get your number soon enough Sansa

The air left her lungs all at once and Sansa threw her phone away, desperate to have it gone, and it flew across her room until Sansa stretched out her hand, reaching for it without thinking.

The prickling feeling in her hands rushed outwards and her phone hung in the air, frozen there.

It _was_ real.

She really did have a _gift._

Long ago, Sansa had read in a magazine about someone with the gift of telekinesis. They’d said it was just like pins and needles. That they could move and control whatever they wished to, they just had to focus and reach out.

Sansa’s fingers twitched with the strain of the power coursing over and through them and Sansa couldn’t look away as her phone jerked, like a puppet on a string. 

She… really was gifted.

Her hands were soon shaking again and Sansa dropped her arms and took a shuddering breath as her phone clattered to the floor.

It was real. She had...gods, it must be telekinesis. That was her gift.

She half felt like laughing about it because _of course_ she would get a gift now, when she was hardly holding herself together. This was yet another weight to be carried, another secret in the box.

But what now?

Having a gift, wasn’t easy. More trouble than they’re worth. If people knew… especially Joffrey…

Sansa’s thoughts clouded over then, spiralling down, and she stopped it as best she could. _There is no point panicking_ , she reminded herself. _Just breathe._

She picked up a pen from her nightstand and on her palm, where the crescent-moon scars were pale but clear, wrote ‘10’. Ten deep breaths would force herself to be calm. 

That wasn’t enough though. Gifted people could be calm and relaxed, but it would take just one moment of frustration or pain, and people could get hurt. Thoughts of the flood at Wintertown flashed through her mind, and worse, that she might be able to do worse than that, could do that to _her family._

Righting the fallen jar of pencils and folding up the painting, Sansa resolved to practise. She’d do it tomorrow. Then she’d be able to control it and it will be alright. 

Practise makes perfect and that’s what she’ll need to be.

But as she lay in bed, trying to sleep, tossing and turning, Sansa felt tears prick in the corners of her eyes, as she felt an ache to tell someone, to tell Robb and Margaery and Jeyne, so she didn’t feel quite so heavy with it all.

Soon, Sansa closed her eyes and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

“Please mum, just one day.” 

Sansa did her best to look sad and in pain, which she thought shouldn’t be so difficult considering everything, but acting was never her strong suit.

Catelyn still looked suspicious and Sansa bit her lip and cast her eyes down. She’d never suffered period pains so badly as to need a day off school and her mother knew this, so Sansa added, “Please, I’m just so tired mum. Jeyne or Margaery will get any notes for me.”  
  
“It’s not like she’s going to sneak out or anything,” Arya said from the corridor, “Too much of a nerd.”

Sansa huffed a little, but Arya’s words were both true and helpful so she couldn’t be too annoyed at her little sister, who stuck her tongue out at her as she walked past to Bran’s room.

“Fine,” Catelyn conceded, then she held up a finger and pointed it at Sansa’s chest, saying, “But only one day. Every day counts at A Level, you know this.”  
  
“Thank you,” Sansa said, lying back down, as her mother said, “I’ll get you a hot water bottle now, and make soup when I get back from Wintertown.”   
  
For Catelyn Stark, there was nothing a bowl of hot soup couldn’t help with.

Having texted Margaery and Jeyne that she wouldn’t be coming in and they assured her they’d drop off any work she missed, making Sansa feel a twinge of guilt, she got changed and waited. She did need to sneak out and would only be able to do so when her mother had forced soup upon her and so would not mind her walking Lady early.

It was one in the afternoon by the time Sansa had convinced her mother that it would do her good to have some fresh air, and that, no, she couldn’t manage all of the dogs, only Lady. She’d never be able to practise, or do anything, with five huskies skipping round her legs.

The Wolfswood was the best place Sansa could think of to practise her gift. The woods curved round Winterfell and it would only take a twenty minute walk to get there from her house. Every evening, one of them would accompany their father and walk all the dogs on the trail for dog walkers, though when it was Rickon, Sansa tended to go as well - the huskies were still big enough to pull him over if they saw a squirrel and chased it with too much enthusiasm.

Tugging up her hood against the rain that had started to fall, Sansa gripped Lady’s lead and walked off the path, deeper into the woods. There was a clearing Robb had showed her two summers ago, one that Uncle Benjen had shown him. That was where she was going. No one would see her there.

Sitting cross legged on the damp grass, Sansa emptied her mind and concentrated on her breathing, counting her breaths in and out until she felt composed. She uncurled her fists and placed them on her knees and Lady nudged them with her nose.

Next to her was a stick she’d picked up at the edge of the clearing. It was small, only about a ruler in length. Something she didn’t think would be too hard to lift. _With your mind though, that makes things a bit trickier._

“Shhh, lie down girl,” Sansa told Lady, smoothing down her fur and Lady did so, snuggling close to her side and resting her head on one of Sansa’s thighs. “Good girl, my best girl.”

Another breath in. Another breath out.

Sansa wrapped her hands round the stick, ran her fingertips over its grooves and balancing it on her palm, memorising its weight.   
  
That could help lift it, she thought, but with a sinking feeling, Sansa knew it could easily just be pointless. What did she know about gifts or training or anything? _Stupid girl,_ a voice whispered.

Shaking herself, Sansa dropped the stick a metre in front of her. She stared at it, and imagined wrapping her mind around it, picking it up, lifting it. 

It stayed still and Sansa brushed a hand down Lady’s head, then lifted her other hand and held it out. 

Sansa pictured all of her energy flowing down her arm, out of her palm and over the stick, saw in her mind it lifting into the air, and when it stayed still she gritted her teeth. 

It didn’t move. 

With both hands now held out, she leaned forwards and forced herself to block out everything that wasn’t the stick, as nothing else mattered, and the pins and needles returned to her hands. Her eyes widened and Sansa bit her lip, her whole body shaking as the tingling built and she could see it, could see the stick shaking too.

Sansa raised her arms a little and one end of the stick lifted too.

A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth, and Sansa tensed her arms and fingers, and the stick jolted then fell back down, lying still in the grass.

Groaning, Sansa ran her hands through her hair and pulled it into a ponytail. She sighed and tried again.

After several more attempts, as the rain started to fall harder and Lady rubbed against her hip and whined sadly, Sansa let her arms drop and closed her eyes. 

The stick had lifted slightly again. It had vibrated and even twisted. But she hadn’t been able to move it properly.

That evening, when Sansa was by herself again in her room, having already sung to Rickon and said goodnight to the rest of the Starks, she tried to lift a pencil and then her phone, but neither would budge no matter how hard she focused on them and willed them to move. The tip of the pencil had raised slightly, but that was it.

It seemed to happen either randomly or on instinct, as a reaction to something - she hadn’t wanted her phone to break when she’d thrown it, so she’d reached out and it had levitated. Perhaps, then, so long as she didn’t throw her phone or books around school, she could keep it a secret awhile longer.

It would be best if no one knew until she could use her gift properly, like Jon Snow, she thought. He’d been able to just create that snowman and make it float across the room with ease.

But, _oh,_ to be able to tell _someone._

Sansa clamped down on that thought, telling herself no, over and over. 

If the secret got out, her mother would freak out and force her to take blocking pills. Sansa shivered. To have a gift could be a curse, but suppressing something that was a part of you… that must be worse. 

That’s what had made Joffrey lash out, after all...

 _I am nothing like him_ , Sansa thought. _I’d rather die than be like him._

When she saw her friends on Tuesday morning, Margaery hugged her tightly and Jeyne held her hand as they walked into form. 

Stupidly, Sansa felt like crying, their kindness weighing on her as the words _I’m gifted_ sat like lead on her tongue. Instead she settled for choking out a thank you to them both for bringing over the work she’d missed the day before.

“Mr Creep said you should go and see him today,” Jeyne said, pulling a face as if mentioning Mr Baelish physically pained her. “So you are ‘secure in your learning,” she added, making quotations marks in the air, sneering.

“I’ll do that after school then,” Sansa said, wrapping her hands around her water bottle so she didn’t press her nails into her palm. _Remember to stay calm,_ she reminded herself, glancing down at the fading pen on her skin.

“We can come with you,” Margaery was quick to chime in with, smiling at her across the table.

“It’s alright, really.”

Both her friends nodded, neither insisting on accompanying her. They both knew what Baelish was like but they didn’t know everything. 

Someone tapping on her shoulder made Sansa jump in her seat and whip round, and there was Dickon, head tilted to the side, looking her up and down. His gaze on her didn’t make her feel any butterflies like it may have once. Instead, Sansa realised it just made her feel vaguely ill. She wrapped her arms round her middle as he spoke.

“You okay, Stark?”

“Yes.”

Not put off by her stiff reply, he smiled widely and said, “Got a bit worried when you weren’t here yesterday.”

 _You’ve ignored me for days,_ she wanted to say, _so that sounds unlikely._

“I’m alright now.”

Without waiting to see what he might come up with in reply, Sansa turned back round to face her friends, just as Mr Gilpin came in calling for quiet.

Despite busying herself with flipping through her planner as well as counting in and out several steadying breaths, Sansa still noticed Margaery frowning at her and how her eyes flickered over to Dickon and back. Margaery was smart and observant, and even more so when it came to people’s love lives.

Sansa sighed and racked her brain for possible answers to her friend’s likely onslaught of questions at lunchtime. 

Nothing that she came up with would satisfy Margaery. The truth was too boring.

During her morning frees, Sansa sat in the library and worked on her homework from the day before, tugging on her tight ponytail, feeling as if everyone was staring at her. They weren’t, they had no reason to be, but it felt as though it was emblazoned on her skin that she was different now, no longer the perfect Sansa Stark.

By lunchtime, after an hour of history she could hardly keep up with, Sansa felt drained and she lay her head on her arms. Jeyne patted her back and said, “You need a hot chocolate and some lemon cake,” before disappearing.

“Sweetie,” Margaery said, sliding in next to her, “What’s wrong?”

Lifting her head, Sansa pulled a smile onto her face and prayed it didn’t look like the grimace it felt like. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Nightmares again?”  
  
It wasn’t the truth, but Sansa still nodded, hoping it would be answer enough.

“So your dour spirit is not related to Dickon?”  
  
 _Time for the Spanish inquisition._

“No,” she said, sitting on her hands so she didn’t fidget with them.

“At least Jeyne doesn’t have to kick his ass then,” Margaery said, popping a chip into her mouth. “I thought you liked him.”

Sansa hummed and looked down, just as she heard someone ask, “Liked who?”

Robb sat down in Jeyne’s empty space as Margaery said, “Dickon Tarly.”

“Marge!” Sansa hissed, although it didn’t matter now as much as it would have mattered last week. But still, Robb was protective and she could see he was already squaring his shoulders and narrowing his eyes as he looked round the dining hall.

“Arya said he was ‘your Dickon’, didn’t she?” he said, and Margaery tutted and said, “Old news, darling. Our Sansa has moved on already.”

Before Robb could reply, either to quiz her on Dickon _bloody_ Tarly or to flirt with Margaery, Sansa said firmly, “Enough.”

That silenced them both. Robb laid a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Sans. I just wanted to check you were feeling okay.”

Sansa’s frustration wilted. He was just trying to be a good big brother, she should be grateful. “No, I’m sorry. I’m… tired, that’s all.”

Robb nodded and stood to leave with a pat on her shoulder as Jeyne returned with the promised cake and hot chocolate.

“Oh, Sansa,” he said, turning back to their table, “Mum said I should walk you home today, so where should I meet you, after period five?”

“I don’t need supervision, Robb,” Sansa grumbled but at his pointed look, conceded and said, “Outside Mr Baelish’s office, I need to speak to him about yesterday’s work.”

“Didn’t they collect that for you already?”

“He wants to have a ‘special chat’,” Jeyne said darkly, and Sansa rushed to say, “I’ll see you later, Robb.”

Once he’d left, Sansa scrubbed a hand down her face then took a bite of lemon cake. E _verything will be alright,_ she told herself.

But it didn’t feel that way, standing outside Baelish’s office, her hand shaking, poised to knock.

The faster she spoke to him, the faster she could leave. And get home to wash away the feeling of his eyes on her, the sound of his voice in her ear, wash away all of it.

After the first knock, he called for her to enter and when she did, he stood and came round his desk to lean on it, beckoning her closer.

“How are you, Sansa, feeling better I hope?”

Straightening her spine, Sansa quashed down her nerves, and met his eyes. “Yes, sir. What was it you wanted to speak to me about?” 

He tried to hide it but Sansa had seen the way his eyes had wandered as she spoke, slithering downwards, and she knew, _she knew,_ that it wasn’t just her hands that were shaking now. The tips of her fingers pricked with pins and needles, and she swallowed, clenching her fists.

“I just,” - he stepped closer and smiled, showing too many shining teeth, - “wanted to ensure you are happy with your learning and how you’re progressing.”

“I am.”

“You know I want you to do well this year, don’t you, Sansa.”

He was too close now, and Sansa felt as though her hands were burning, and she couldn’t focus, couldn’t breathe as he stretched out his hand and ghosted his fingers across her arm.

The glass on his desk smashed to the floor and Sansa gasped, she couldn’t help it, and she gritted out a thank you, before running from his office, and the door slammed behind her without her touching it.

Sansa ran down the corridor and round the corner, and she ran right into Robb.

“Sansa, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” he asked urgently.

“I’m gifted,” she whispered, and then clamped a hand over her mouth as ice flooded her veins. _Oh gods._

“Wh - _gifted?”_

There was no taking it back, so Sansa nodded, and watched the shock settle swiftly over Robb’s face, his jaw going slack. 

But then, as her heart threatened to fly out of her chest and she felt fresh tears gather in her eyes, he hugged her tightly against his chest and said softly into her hair, “It’ll be alright, Sans. I’ll help, okay. Gods.”

They continued hugging in the corridor until Robb stepped back, and, pulling her hands away from her face, said, “We’ll talk at home, alright. We have to find Arya, but we’ll talk about this later.”  
  
Sansa nodded and wiped away her tears. She’d never loved Robb as much as she did now. She just hoped he’d be able to keep it a secret, at least for awhile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa's pov got a bit long, so I decided to split the chapter. Think of this as a part one and part two will be coming soon. Sorry for being so slow at writing this, I'll try and get Jon's pov written asap, so I can post some actual Jonsa content!
> 
> Also, Robb is getting the big brother of the year award, I love him.


	4. Chapter 4

✨

{Jon}

Several times a week, Elia would insist that everyone in the Targaryen household ate together, either before they left for school and Rhaegar disappeared off to his office in the attic, or at night, for painfully-slow family meals.

Jon had managed to avoid some of them over the summer, simply by riding too far away on his motorbike to be back in time for the evening meal, but it was so much easier for Elia to trap him now school had begun. And it didn’t seem like he could avoid this next family bonding session without risking her wrath.

With sharp eyes, she said over the breakfast table, looking at him in particular, “We’re having your Uncle Viserys and Dany for dinner tonight, so I expect everyone to be here on time.”

Glancing at Aegon, Elia added, “And looking presentable.”  
  
“As if Dany would care if I’d burnt a hole in my shirt. That was one time!” Aegon protested, but Elia was stubborn, saying, “It’s a family dinner. Look your best.”

Jon couldn’t help but think of the _other_ family dinner he was going to in a few days time. Did the Starks insist you look your best for their mandated family dinners? He didn’t think he had anything that wasn’t black or leather or damaged.

He shook his head and picked at his toast. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t like he was ‘meeting the parents’ for the first time or anything. It wasn’t like it would matter a year from now.

Jon bit into his toast and glowered at the table, as Elia kept speaking.

“You know what your Uncle and Cousin are like,” she said, ignoring the utter boredom of everyone else round the table, “So unless you swear to stay calm, you have to block your powers.”

As Aegon groaned and Rhaenys started to complain, Jon could only think _of-fucking-course._ It was as if blocking pills were the only answer to everything.

Jon knew what the problem was - neither Dany nor Viserys had gifts. Most of the Targaryens had gifts, being such an old family, but they didn’t and it ate them up inside. The lack of fine china in Elia’s cupboards was testament enough to Viserys past rages.

Jon had glimpsed Dany at school, seen flashes of her blonde, ice-like hair in the canteen, but she had never approached him and he had no desire to speak to her either. He had enough Targaryens to deal with without dealing with his spoiled cousin too.

“We’re not going to do anything, mum,” Rhaenys was saying, leaning forwards to grasp her mother’s hand, probably trying to sway her emotions. But, they’d all grown largely immune to Rhaenys power to alter their emotional states, so Elia shook off her hand with her stern expression remaining in place.

“I won’t stand any arguments over gifts and certainly won’t have any of you three showing off.”

Aegon scoffed. “It’s not like we have anything to prove to them. They know what we can do.”  
  
“They don’t know Jon.” Rhaegar’s voice was soft, but it cut through the room, silencing them all. “Control it. All of you.”

His pale eyes flickered over his three children, weighing heaviest on Jon, who straightened his spine and refused to look away from his father. He could control it, but everyone always acted as though he was one word away from lashing out, like he’d bring down whatever building he was in at any provocation.

Jon kept his glaring at Rhaegar as he stood and said, “I’m going to be late.”

“Be here at five thirty,” Elia called as he strode out of the room, his hands flexing by his sides.

He wasn’t late to school. In fact, for once, Jon was early, walking into form to find it still half empty.

Moving to sit at the table at the back of form, Jon waited for Robb and Theon to arrive, rolling a ball of ice between his fingertips, thinking of what he needed to get done. Glover had set an essay the day before and expected it to be done perfectly by Friday so he wanted to start that in his free period 4. He needed look into what jobs he could apply for, that would take an eighteen year old, gifted, Targaryen, still in Sixth Form. 

He also needed to not kill his stepmother or his cousin and uncle.

At 8:35, Theon walked in, looking dead on his feet and he slumped into his seat, putting his face onto the table with a thud. 

Theon could be annoying - was mostly annoying - but Jon had found over the past two weeks that he was at least entertaining to joke with. Especially when it was obvious Theon was wasted from the previous night, usually from drinking alcohol his sister had stolen from their weird uncle.

“Rough night?”

“Shut up, Targaryen,” he muttered, and Jon threw snow into his ear, making him yelp. 

“You’re an idiot, Greyjoy.” 

Five minutes later, Robb came in, dark shadows under his eyes. The smile he gave them when he sat down was strained, and it didn’t sit well with Jon, a stone settling in the pit of his stomach. What could have Robb looking like that? He’d been fine the day before.

Theon sat up and bumped shoulders with him, murmuring, “Alright?” 

Robb scrubbed a hand down his face. “Yeah, course.”

It wasn’t like Jon could ask him, not after only knowing him for two weeks, but he hoped Theon would ask again to make sure. But Theon had his nose pressed to the table again so Jon could only offer Robb a half-smile when he looked his way.

After Mormont had registered them and gruffly wished them a good day, the three of them had started walking to their lessons when Robb waved Theon on ahead.

“At break,” Robb said tersely, tugging on Jon to pull him to the edge of the corridor, “I need to talk to you. Outside.”  
  
“Robb… everything okay?” Jon said, swallowing as a pained look passed over his friend’s face.

“Yeah, just… meet me by the equipment hut at break. Alright.”

Two hours later, standing with his back against the wall of the hut, Jon clenched his teeth as he waited for the minutes tick by, and for Robb to appear and explain. Nothing had happened since Saturday, not to do with Rhaegar and the Starks, not with his gift, nothing to make Robb hate him. Jon couldn’t think of anything, his mind was blank.

Combing a hand through his hair, Jon started to bounce his leg when Robb came round the corner, eyes lighting up when he spotted Jon, and beckoning him, saying, “Over here.”

They crossed the field in silence, ignoring the few kids kicking around a football in the autumn chill.

“Robb,” Jon said, as Robb finally stopped to lean against a tree trunk, “What the hell is going on?”

Robb chewed his lip and looked at the ground. “It’s… it’s Sansa.”

“Sansa?”  
  
“No one can know Jon,” Robb said, “Not anyone.”   
  
“What _?_ ” Jon tilted his head to the side, frowning.

Robb heaved a sigh and said, “She’s gifted, Jon. We need your help.”

That one word made the thoughts in his head freeze. _Gifted_. It echoed between them and Jon couldn’t stop himself saying, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, Jon. She’s telekinetic. I -” Robb kicked off from the tree and began to pace - “I trust you and I need you to help her.”

It was like the world was tilting as Jon thought that maybe that was it, maybe it was their gifts that had sparked… 

“How?” Jon said instead. “That’s not my gift.”

“Well I _can’t help her_ Jon. I can’t!” Robb swore then and said roughly, “I wish I could, but I think she needs someone with a gift to help her. We haven’t known each other long but you’re our only option.”

This wasn’t the plan, Jon thought, staring at Robb in silence and pinching himself. This was more than he ever planned for - some friends, a job, yes, but this was _more_ , helping someone with their gift was personal. It was another way he could get too attached, putting down too many roots.

And _Sansa_ . Helping Sansa wouldn’t just mean probably getting more attached to the Starks than he wanted to be, with their warm home and huskies, but would mean he’d be spending time with someone who could potentially be his _fucking soulmate_ , if Rhaenys was right.

Rhaenys hadn’t asked him why he was asking, and she hadn’t asked him for any names, but he’d felt like his heart and head were bare to her when he’d asked her about what connections, instant ones, people could have with one another.

 _I’ve heard that sometimes people meet their soulmates,_ she’d said. He’d scoffed but she’d stared him down. _It’s not common, but when people have gifts they could potentially feel a connection to someone else that runs deeper than other emotions. I’ve never felt it in anyone though._

He needed to talk to Sam, he’d be able to look into it...

“Joffrey,” Robb was saying and it pulled Jon back to the present, and he wondered why Robb was bringing up Joffrey, some popular rich kid from the year below. “He couldn’t control his gift. And. It hurt Sansa.”

Jon whipped his head round as Robb’s words clashed in his mind - “He’s gifted?” was the one he voiced, but another voice in his head growled that he’d hurt Sansa _._ Jon despised him from that alone, and refused to look too closely at why that was.

“Gah, yes. He is,” Robb huffed and then stood in front of Jon and gripped his arm. “I shouldn’t be saying any of this but you need to know that Sansa has to be able to control this power she has. And I hoped you’d be willing to help her. If not....”

“I’ll help,” Jon’s mouth said, despite everything his mind was screaming at him about what a bad idea this was. 

Robb was his friend and he needed help, _Sansa_ needed help. 

He’d certainly needed the help when he was little. And he’d hadn’t really got it, no matter what Lyanna had tried...

At lunchtime, Jon’s eyes were drawn to her, with her red hair vibrant and swaying round her shoulders as she moved towards her friends. You wouldn’t know she was gifted, that she had such power, not from how she looked - she seemed like any other girl.

 _But she isn’t,_ his traitorous thoughts reminded him.

As he watched her, he noticed her hands were paint-smudged again. And how her hair looked in the sun streaming through the high windows.

Jon coughed and averted his eyes. _Please, don’t let Robb have noticed his staring,_ he thought. _You’re an idiot sometimes. Get it together, you’re not fourteen._

“So Rhaenys tells me you asked her about soulmates,” Aegon said bluntly, as they laid out plates for dinner.

Aegon wiggled his eyebrows and Jon sighed, not surprised that Rhaenys had told him.

“Hardly,” Jon said evasively, moving round the other side of the table to set out the cutlery. Viserys and Dany were going to be arriving soon and he didn’t want Elia breathing down his neck about not being ready in time. As if they’d care.

“Oh come on, Johnny boy,” Aegon said, coming over to shove at Jon’s shoulders. Jon glared at him but Aegon wasn’t deterred, asking, “Who’s the girl?”

“Or boy,” Rhaenys said from the doorway, balancing a tray of glasses in her hands.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jon said gruffly.  
  
“We support you either way, so just tell us.” Aegon patted his shoulder. 

“Its nothing, seriously. Let it go,” Jon said, feeling a spike of anger as he just didn’t want to talk about this, to _anyone_ right now. Rhaenys must have sensed his rising frustration as he noticed her eyes widen and she said firmly, “Lay off it, Egg.”

Leaving Aegon spluttering behind him, Jon walked into the kitchen to fetch a glass of water, and finished it in one as the doorbell rang throughout the house.

Great.

As they all sat down to eat, Jon tried to pull his mind away from the meal, away from this house, ignoring Elia’s frown that he felt was always directed at him and everything to do with Rhaegar Targaryen. 

Jon ate his food, one bite at a time, concentrating on his chewing instead of the conversation happening stiffly around the table - that way he’d not snow them all under or make the table into an ice-block.

When Dany asked him how he was finding Wintertown, Jon said, “Good,” and kept eating. Rhaenys elbowed him and so he tried to smile at Dany, but he knew it didn’t reach his eyes.

Finally, finally, the meal was almost over and Jon would be able to take his bike out for a ride so soon.

But Viserys would not shut up. 

“Did you book your flights successfully?” he said, sipping his black coffee, one eyebrow arched.

“Yes,” Elia replied, sitting tall in her seat. “And our insurance too.”  
  
Flights? Insurance? It didn’t make sense to Jon, what they were saying, and he glanced at Elia, but it was Aegon who asked, “What’s this for, mum?”   
  
“Half term,” she said, “We’re going to Romania for the week.”

Romania hadn’t been mentioned before, not whilst he’d been in the house. 

His confusion mounting, Jon twisted to look at Rhaegar, who said, “You will have the house to yourself for a week, Jon.”  
  
That’s why. 

Jon stared at Rhaegar then nodded slowly, a sinking filling engulfing him. Rhaenys laid a hand on his thigh and rubbed it gently. He pushed her off.

Running from the house as soon as he could, Jon kicked his bike into gear and headed out onto the old track curving through the Wolfswood.

Tears stung his eyes briefly and he cursed it, cursed all the bloody Targaryens as the sinking feeling persisted and made him grip the bike handles harder, knuckles surely going white.

 _I don’t even want to go with them,_ he thought, but he hated how that didn’t matter right now. They didn’t invite him on their family holiday, and he would be left alone for a week.

A week was plenty of time to study. He could meet up with Sam at Winterfell library, could work, could maybe invite Sam or Robb round. 

_But still_ , he thought, forcing his bike forward, the wind stripping his cheeks of any tears left on them. _They didn’t want him._

When he returned, a couple of hours later, Aegon thumped him on the back and Rhaenys smiled at him, holding his hand, sending him a wave of warmth. Jon didn’t speak, just went upstairs to be alone.

Once he was in his room, Jon stared up at his ceiling, as he was doing more and more now, tracing ice along it. His thoughts drifted, without him meaning to, to Sansa and Robb.

He needed to speak to her in private if he was going to help Robb out, because that was why he was doing it, to help his friend.

He kept telling himself that.

The dinner on Friday was as good a time as any, he thought. At school, they didn’t cross paths, being in different years and moving in different circles, and it would be odd if he were to just walk up to her.

And she probably wouldn’t want that. People still whispered behind his back as if he didn’t _know_ they were doing it. It had sounded like she’d had enough crap to deal with.

In the darkness, Jon thought, _please let it be alright._ Whether he was praying to God or not, he couldn’t say, and about what he wasn’t sure, but he thought it all the same.

_Please let it be alright._

Going to the Starks a second time was easier, Jon found to his relief. He’d ridden his bike to school and then to the house again so he could drop off what few books he had, then Robb, having deposited his siblings at home, came to fetch him.

“Not as nice a ride as yours,” he said whilst Jon climbed in.

“Better in the rain.”

Peeling away from the curb and speeding into Winterfell, Robb huffed and said, “Not as good with girls.”

Jon shrugged. He guessed it was true, but really Jon preferred his bike for how fast it was, how free. Robb’s almost-new car was stifling in comparison.

Before they went inside, Robb said, biting his lip, “It sucks, but… I think it’d be easier if you didn’t use your gifts too much. For mum. And for Sansa.”

Jon breathed and counted down from ten. He knew, _he knew_ , Robb was right, but the idea of containing his gift, locking the door to it even for a few hours, felt suffocating, like his hands were being tied.

“Of course,” Jon said instead.

Like last time, the moment the door was opened, five huskies rushed towards them, barking and yipping and nudging at them. It made Jon’s heart swell, and he crouched down to rub the ear of one of the quieter dogs, who had a pink ribbon tied to their collar.

“I thought,” Robb said, as he hung up his coat and reached out for Jon’s, “That after dinner we could take them out for a walk.”

His words were normal enough, but he raised his eyebrows meaningfully, nodding his head.

“Just a few of us,” Robb added.

 _To talk to Sansa,_ Jon realised, and so he agreed.

“Jon’s here!” Robb shouted then, loud enough to fill the house, and crashing footsteps answered him, voices calling out Jon’s name.

Rickon appeared first, almost falling down the stairs. Grinning ear to ear, he said, out of breath, “Can I have another snowman?”  
  
“Gods Rickon, chill out, he just got in the door,” Arya said as she followed him down the stairs, ruffling her little brother’s hair.

“Sure,” Jon said, shifting from side to side. “Maybe after dinner, Rickon.”

“Ace! I’ll tell Bran!” And Rickon bounded off into the house.

Robb pulled the dogs away from Jon’s legs, where they were close to crushing them in their excitement, and said, “Come on in,” when a lower, rougher voice said, “Hello Jon.”

To his right, an older man stood in the doorway to what looked like a study. He must be Eddard Stark. 

From what Rhaegar had been saying, Jon had expected something else, someone fiercer or more clearly aggressive, but Mr Stark seemed like any ordinary Northern father, rugged and solemn.

Jon still had the compulsion to gulp though. Ned Stark was known throughout Winterfell and could throw him from the house if he so wished, just for his family, or his gift. Jon stuck out his hand, willing it not to be too cold to the touch, and said, “Good evening, Mr Stark.”

Mr Stark shook his hand with a strong grip, then waved off his formality, saying, “Ned is fine, Jon.”

“Thank you for having me.”

Ned didn’t reply straight away. He took a moment to look him up and down, and Jon felt his skin crawl slightly at the examination Ned was giving him, like he was looking _into_ him. 

“My children have told me you have ice manipulation as your gift.”  
  
For once Jon wished Rhaenys was with him, because he had no idea if Ned thought that was good or bad, his voice and eyes gave nothing away. Jon found he really did want Ned to think well of him. 

“Yes, sir - Ned,” he replied, holding out his palm and letting snow collect on it, then tipping it to the side to drift to the ground, where two of the huskies nosed at it curiously. 

“A rare one,” was all Ned said in response, but the corner of his mouth was pulled up and there was some warmth in his eyes as he once again looked Jon over, before stepping into the hallway and moving down it to the kitchen beyond.

Robb returned to his side, and patted him on the back. “You’re not coming to ask for anyone’s hand in marriage, don’t look so scared Snow. It’d be me you’d be scared of then.”

Robb had already been in two fights this year, winning them both, so Jon didn’t doubt it.

"Hello.”

At her voice, Jon froze, helpless to do much but look at her as she emerged from the kitchen.

“Hey.”

She looked at him and though it wasn’t as intense as last time, Jon still felt a thrumming sensation in his body the second his eyes met hers. 

Sansa paused, inclined her head, then stepped closer, and the feeling faded.

“Lady likes you,” Sansa said quietly, patting the husky with the ribbon who was still stood beside Jon’s leg, nuzzling against him.

“She’s lovely.”

As they stood in silence, Jon wanted to ask her something, _anything_. How she was, what he could do. But he bit the words down and let the quiet settle around them and jolted when he felt a soft pressure on his arm, as Sansa pressed a hand to it and leaned in.

“Robb said you’d help me,” she whispered, and Jon could feel her trembling slightly.

“I will,” he murmured back, “We’ll talk after dinner. If that’s okay.” 

Impulsively, he lay a hand on top of hers, and Jon thought he felt her squeeze his arm.

“Mum says it’s ready.”

Jon tore his gaze away from Sansa - he must be looking seriously foolish right now - and saw a boy in a wheelchair looking at them with a blank expression, as though nothing was amiss. 

Sansa retracted her hand and wrapped her arms around her body, saying, “We’re coming. Thank you, Bran.”

Despite Mrs Stark still clearly being unhappy with his presence, the family dinner… was nice. Though Targaryen family dinners didn’t seem to give them any real competition there.

After making Rickon laugh by freezing the water at the bottom of his glass, Jon relaxed slightly, but it didn’t last after Ned asked him, “What do you take at A-Level, Jon?” 

“History, business and politics, sir.”

Arya booed across the table, which made him chuckle and he hid it behind his fist. Mrs Stark asked in a clipped voice, “And what do you wish to do after Sixth Form?”  
  
He had no answer for her, and the silence stretched uncomfortably as Jon clenched his jaw.

Robb broke it by saying, “Hardly anyone really knows now, mum. It’s still September.”

“You do,” she said, finishing cutting her chicken and placing her cutlery down with a clatter.

“I want to get a job.”

“Is that made difficult by having a gift?”

Robb groaned and Jon inhaled deeply, but it was Sansa stiffening beside him that made him count down from ten, forcing himself to calm down. _You haven’t iced Rhaegar yet, so don’t start icing any parents now._

“I suppose, -” Jon made to run his hand through his hair before remembering he’d tied it up, - “I was wondering if you had any suggestions for jobs I could apply for this year.”

He aimed his words at the whole table, so he didn’t have to bear Mrs Stark’s ice-blue gaze for longer than need be.

"Many places would take you,” Ned said from the head of the table, lifting some of the tension. “I’d suggest the Night’s Watch B&B. Or the Freefolk bar. I’ve known lads like you to work there.”

“Why do you need a job anyway?” Bran said, “Don’t the Targaryens have loads of money?”

Arya shoved Bran’s shoulder, almost knocking his glass over in the process.

“For my motorbike.”

“Cool!” Arya said, her eyes lighting up, but Robb stopped her there and then, saying, “Absolutely not, don’t even try.”

By the time she’d finished sulking over the unfairness of not being allowed a motorbike, which Jon agreed with - from what he could tell, she’d definitely be too wild for it - dinner was over and Robb was dragging him, Sansa and Rickon out the back door, saying, “We’re taking the dogs out for a half hour.”

Rickon passed him the lead for the husky called Summer and he sunk a hand into the dogs fur, hardly having to lean down at all.

“We’ll go to the Wolfswood and back,” Robb said over his shoulder, looking between him and Sansa intently, then tugging Rickon along faster, his brother eager to rush ahead with Shaggydog beside him.

Sansa slowed to come into step with him, but they were quiet until they reached the forest, away from the streets of Winterfell where anybody could be watching. This needed to be private. 

“Have you got a dog?” Sansa asked suddenly, as she unhooked the lead from Lady’s collar.

“No,” Jon said, as he did the same. “I… always wanted one though.”

“Why didn’t you get one?”

Summer and Lady sped off down the path towards their brothers and sister who were with Robb and Rickon, round the corner.

_Because my mother died before we could. And now I’m here. With you._

“Never got round to it.”

Sansa hummed and her eyes flickered over to meet his, and Jon shoved his hands in his pockets so he didn’t do anything dumb like touch her cheek or her hair. Not that he wanted to do that.

“She,” Sansa started, then stopped as if the words were stuck in her throat. “Lady… makes me stop shaking. When it happens.”

 _Her eyes really are like Mrs Stark’s_ , Jon thought absently when Sansa stopped moving along the path and locked eyes with him. _They’re like ice. Like the sea._

She was shaking, Jon noticed, and it wasn’t chilly enough for it to be from the cold. _This must be scary for her._

There was nothing he could do though. His tongue was heavy and thoughts empty of anything he could say that would _help her._

It’s terrifying, getting your gift for the first time.

_I felt so alone…_

An idea hit Jon then, and he held up his hand, palm upwards, and made ice build, swirling round his palm. When he noticed Sansa’s eyes were wide and fixed on his gift, he made it into snow. It drifted through the air, up and away as he let it go, but he made sure some swayed and settled on her hair.

The white crystals were stark against the copper of her hair and Sansa tentatively moved her hand to touch some of the snowflakes.

Jon swallowed. A part of him knew he shouldn’t be thinking it, she was Robb’s sister, but Sansa was really quite pretty with snow melting in her hair and shy smile on her lips.

Thank the gods she didn’t have a telepathic gift. Thank the gods _Robb_ didn’t.

"What is yours like?” he said softly, so he didn’t shock or unnerve her.

“Its… - ” Sansa distanced herself from him and took a step along the path, waiting for Jon to move with her - “Unreal. Like pins and needles, it builds in my fingers when I reach out to things.”

“How did you find out?”

It was only because he was paying close attention to her that he saw a pink tinge flowering across her cheeks. 

“I was painting, and knocked over some water.”

“And?” 

He didn’t want to push, but the more he knew the more would understand, and would then be able to actually help. Somehow.

“I held it above the paper. I didn’t want it to ruin the picture.”

Sansa’s blush darkened. Maybe she’s embarrassed…

“My mum said I had to go to bed and I threw a tantrum and froze the water in her glass. I made it shatter.”

“What did she do?”  
  
“She said everything would be alright.” _She held me as I cried._

It was starting to get dark and Robb and Rickon were nowhere in sight, but he made no move to head back as Sansa considered his words and asked, “How long until you could control it?”

_Years._

“Not too long.”

Again, Sansa was quiet and she chewed her lip. Jon looked away.

“How will you help me?”

Jon wasn’t completely sure yet, but he wasn’t going to tell her that, rather saying, “I can help train you. We can meet up and do it in private.”

Sansa scuffed her shoes against the dirt and said quietly, “I could hurt you…”

“You won’t,” he said, “I’m tougher than I look.”

She chuckled, then her face fell again, sighing as if something was still holding her back.

“No one can know.”

“No one will know from me,” he said, “I promise.”

They simply stared at one another then, alone in the Wolfswood as night fell. And again, Jon felt something stirring in his chest, like a flame igniting and flowing outwards.

“I promise,” he repeated softly, because he felt Sansa needed to hear it and a gentle smile spread across her face as his words sunk in.

Soon though the moment was broken as Robb and Rickon returned with the huskies and the four of them headed back to the Stark house. 

Before he left, Jon swapped numbers with Sansa, with another promise to text her and organise when they could meet up. To train her. He’d need to think about that more.

It struck Jon later that he hadn’t asked her about blocking pills, whether she wanted any. He loathed them and even the _thought_ of being made to take them made his heart pound, but perhaps Sansa would want them to help her. It was always harder to learn to control your powers, the older you were when you got them.

He hadn’t asked her about the spark between them either. Whether or not she had felt it.

A part of Jon, which he truly tried to ignore, whispered, _I hope she did_.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long, I decided not to write whilst on holiday and then have been very slow.
> 
> I'm throwing in the soulmates trope because it makes me happy so yay for soulmates!
> 
> Also, a bit ago, @fleurhell on Instagram made the most amazing jonsa edit using the song Powerful so obviously it is now a Jonsa anthem in my head.


	5. Chapter 5

✨

{Sansa}

_I’m going to be training with Jon, alone. He’s going to be helping me for weeks. Alone._

Sansa could feel herself blush as she thought about it, even though she was by herself, hidden away in her bedroom. 

Reaching out to select the right shade of grey from her pastel set, Sansa sighed. Margaery was going to have a field day if she found out that she was going to be spending ample amounts of time with Jon Snow.

Not that Margaery would be able to find that secret out without knowing about the much bigger secret Sansa was keeping from everyone, locked away. At least Robb knew about it. And Jon now too. And he’d promised to keep her secret safe.

Rolling the pastel between her fingers, Sansa set about sketching Lady’s fur as best she could without Lady beside her for reference. It was meant to be an observed study, yet another piece to add to her sketchbook, but she wanted time by herself. Just to think.

If she went to find Lady, Catelyn would no doubt rope her into a task. One someone else could easily do, she thought bitterly. Sansa cringed at that thought, as she always wanted to help and be of use to her mother, but it was still true. 

As she drew, Sansa’s thoughts circled round and round, as they tended to do recently, back to her gift. And Jon.

She’d been so nervous to speak with him the day before, almost shaking out of her skin when they were alone in the Wolfswood. But he’d made it snow, letting it fall onto her hair and rest there. And he’d been so _nice_ , promising that she wouldn’t hurt him, promising not to tell anyone.

 _He’s only doing it because of Robb,_ she reminded herself. _No need to swoon._

Not that she was swooning. She’d promised herself not again, and thinking too much about Jon’s inky curls or his kind eyes wasn’t going to help. Especially as he was one of Robb’s friends. And technically a Targaryen too, which mother and father wouldn’t like.

Throwing down her pastel, Sansa tugged at her braid and rubbed her eyes, which meant she’d probably now smudged her mascara and added pastel to the mix, which made everything even better. 

Her phone buzzed and Sansa’s stomach swooped. _Please don’t be Joffrey._ He hadn’t texted her for awhile, hadn’t spoken to her, but he was never far from her thoughts and worries, and it made her nails pierce her palms. No matter what Robb said, he’d never leave her alone, it wouldn’t be alright.

Thankfully, it was Margaery texting and relief flooded through her. _It’s alright for now._

  
  


[Margaery]

So did you kiss iceman at dinner last night or am I going to have to intervene??

If they hadn’t been friends for so long, Sansa might have wondered how her friend could have possibly found out that Jon had been at her house yesterday, but it was pretty easy to guess.

[Sansa]

Are you just texting and flirting with Robb to get information out of him?

  
  
[Margaery]

I’m flirting with him because he’s cute. The information is just a bonus, babe.

Don’t change the subject

Was iceman’s motorbike too irresistible? Have you kissed?

[Sansa]

Of course not.

  
  
[Margaery]

Shame. Iceman looks like a good kisser xxx

We’ll catch you that boy soon enough, don’t you worry.

[Sansa]

Marge, no.

[Margaery]

Marge, YES

You deserve a cute boy!!

[Sansa]

Bye, Margaery. See you on Monday.

[Margaery]

I’m telling Jeyne so she can quiz you on my behalf today. <3

  
Margaery would definitely tease her if she knew about her training with Jon. She was going to anyway now. There was no point lying to Margaery Tyrell about who you liked or about any gossip at all.

But it didn’t matter.

Her and Jon would train, she would practise her powers to perfection so no one will ever get hurt by them, and she and Jon will maybe be friends. Nothing else.

But Sansa did feel that her heart wasn’t listening to what her head was repeating.

“Tell me about iceman, then,” Jeyne said, as they waited in line at the cinema for some spy film Jeyne wanted to watch.

Sansa groaned. “What did Margaery say?”

It looked like Jeyne was trying to feign innocence when she said, “Nothing much.” Sansa tilted her head and Jeyne conceded, saying, “Something about a massive crush. And kissing."

“I told her we haven’t kissed, and it’s nothing, by the way. It doesn’t matter!”

Feeling flustered, Sansa fiddled with her purse, refusing to meet her friend’s eye.

“I think thou doth protest too much.”  
  
Sansa huffed at that.

Jeyne didn’t reply as she bought her ticket and a large bucket of popcorn and she waited until they were in their seats to say, “It wouldn’t be so terrible to have a crush on him.”

“I don’t.”

“It’s not Dickon is it?”

“What?!”

Twisting to look at Jeyne properly, Sansa saw Jeyne looked serious for once, her eyebrows furrowed and hands clasped tightly around her popcorn. Sansa held her coffee to her chest, feeling its warmth seep in.

“You’re not guilty about Dickon are you? Because we - me and Margaery - thought you might…”  
  
Jeyne trailed off but her eyes stayed fixed on Sansa, and she felt bare, exposed in the dimming lights of the cinema.

As the adverts started rolling, Sansa whispered, “I don’t care about Dickon. That was just - it wasn’t anything. I don’t - want that anymore.”

“Oh.”

It was quiet between them and Sansa bit her lip. They were only trying to help but…

“I’d kill Joffrey, if I could.”  
  
Sansa jolted at Jeyne’s whispered confession, and stared at Jeyne’s face as light from the screen flickered over her cheeks.

She opened her mouth but couldn’t speak, her throat tight, and Jeyne continued, saying, “He’s shit and he was shit to you. Not everyone will be like that.”

Sansa’s eyes grew wet and Jeyne reached out to pry one of her hands off of her coffee cup and held it in one of her own. 

It was usually Margaery she went to when she had boy problems, as rare as that was. Margaery had heard all - almost all - of it with Joffrey and she was the one who knew most about Dickon. But Jeyne knew as well. And holding her friend’s hand now, Sansa knew Jeyne deserved to know more too. It shouldn’t just be Margaery, Jeyne cared too.

 _Porcelain, to ivory, to steel,_ Sansa told herself as it would be pathetic to start sobbing in a cinema over her best friends, but still she felt like crying and she held Jeyne’s hand as the movie played on.

“Coffee?” Sansa asked as they walked out of the cinema, arm in arm, and Jeyne grinned and said, “Bring it on, bitch.”

Sansa shoved her shoulder into her but still smiled, though her smile faded when she saw Dany Targaryen walking out of the cinema too, platinum blonde hair swishing behind her. Sansa curled closer to Jeyne and moved faster in the other direction.

Dany had never been rude or cruel to her directly, not really. But she’d been beside Joffrey long enough when Sansa was dating him for her to have seen something was wrong, and all she’d done was glare at her and ignore anything he did.

And she was a Targaryen, a true one. Sansa didn’t want to cross her path and get burnt for it.

Especially as she might be able to look at her and somehow _know_. About her gift. The Targaryens were an ancient family after all.

“Never liked her,” Jeyne muttered, picking up her pace as they made their way to Starbucks. “Maybe your ice man could freeze her for us.”

“They’re cousins.”

“I’d do that to one of my cousins, no question,” Jeyne shrugged and that had Sansa smiling again.

Yes, she’d have to open up more to Jeyne too.

Coffees in hand, they sat down on a bench nearby beneath a tree, leaves falling round them in the breeze. 

“I’ll call Robb to take us back,” Sansa said, pulling her jacket tighter round herself.

“In that case,” Jeyne said, standing up, “I’ll get a coffee for Margaery and we can drop it round. Make her feel less left out.”

Margaery was at Highgarden with her intimidating grandmother so hadn’t been able to come with them, but she’d appreciate the coffee. She always did.

Robb picked up his phone after two rings and immediately barraged her with questions, asking, “Is everything alright? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“It’s fine, Robb,” Sansa said, clearly being able to picture him nearly pulling out his hair with worry. “Can you come and pick us up?”

He groaned but she interrupted his whining, saying, “We’re outside Starbucks. We’ll need to drive by Margaery’s to give her a coffee too.”

That made him pause. It was so easy to pull his strings sometimes. Her big brother was predictable around pretty girls. And there was no point fighting Margaery when she’d decided what boy she was going to have. She might as well help them both out.

“Fine,” he said dramatically, “I’ll be there in ten. Stay safe.”

“See you soon.”

This was one way he could feel like he was helping her. It would make him feel better, she knew.

As she was still by herself, Sansa pull out her notepad and, flicking to a fresh page, started another list as a way of passing the time, and calming her thoughts.

1) Focus on A Levels. You need three As.

2) Control your gift. Practise.

3) Jon (?)

4) Joffrey.

5) Mr Baelish.

“Ready to bounce?”

Sansa crumpled the piece of paper up and closed her fist around it before looking up at Jeyne, who _thankfully_ didn’t seem to think it strange.

She nodded and when she pulled out her phone, tossed the ball of paper into a nearby bin. All was safe again now.

“Robb will be here in a minute.”

A grin spread over Jeyne’s face and she wiggled an eyebrow - “Did you happen to mention our good friend to make him rush here so quickly?”

“Maybe,” Sansa replied, smiling too. “Men can be so easy to manipulate.”

“He doesn’t stand a chance against Margaery.”  
  
Shaking her head, Sansa checked her phone again and sent a message to Margaery telling her they’d be popping round. She replied with an abundance of love hearts.

“Taxi for two,” Robb called and he Sansa kissed his cheek when she climbed in.

When Jeyne went to knock on Highgarden’s door with Margaery’s coffee, Robb took a hold of one of Sansa’s hands and turned it over, peering at her palms and asking in a hushed voice, “Everything alright?

Her heart swelling in her chest, Sansa laced her fingers with Robb’s and said, “Yes. I’m fine.”

But he was insistent. “No problems with with your…” Robb inclined his head towards her hands.

“No.”

_Just because I have a gift doesn’t mean I’m going to go crazy. Not everyone does._

“Well,” Robb said, pulling away to fix his hair, “I’m here for you, Sans.”

Sansa stayed silent. She looked at her hands and pressed them together.

On Monday evening, when they got in from a long day at school, Robb said it again and this time, Sansa said, “I know, Robb.”

Lowering her voice, she added, “Thank you.”

She didn’t tell him though that the thought of training with Jon was making her worry now, her stomach knotting itself and her hands shaking.

Throughout the day, in form and at lunch and in the corridors, Sansa had wanted to say something to Jeyne and Margaery. They’d understand. They wouldn’t hate her or anything.

They’d hold her hand. Lie and say it would be alright and nothing bad would happen.

Sansa needed that. She didn’t want to ask Robb because then he’d just worry more _._

But she couldn’t tell them if she couldn’t control it. And if Jon couldn’t help her learn to control her gift then what… 

And she’d be alone with Jon. What if it went wrong and he got hurt? He’d promised he wouldn’t, but promises like that are like sand between your fingertips, difficult to keep from slipping away.

And a small voice added that if she was alone with Jon she might embarrass herself in front of him. _Don’t be so childish,_ she chastised herself, _stupid girl._ But she couldn’t help it.

It all whirled round her later as she sketched, tucked into the corner of one of the fading sofas in the living room, Lady lying over her feet. Sansa stroked her behind her ear, and re-tied the pink ribbon round her collar, trying to calm down so nothing got broken.

Her phone vibrated, and Sansa gasped a little when she saw Jon’s name on the screen.

[Jon Snow]

Are you still okay meeting at 7 tonight?

It was ridiculous but Sansa’s heart was fluttering in her chest as she typed and retyped a response.

[Sansa]

Yes, that’s fine. 

Thank you Jon.

He replied only a minute later.

[Jon Snow]

I’m glad I can help.

All will be well, she told herself, breathing evenly and deeply. Jon will train you, you will get the grades you need, and you’ll get into university to do Law. Or Art.

No need to panic or worry. It’ll be fine.

It was too easy to lie to her parents during dinner, telling them that she was going to study at Margaery’s for a few hours. Her parents may be respected in Winterfell but that didn’t mean they were going to be willing to disturb Olenna Tyrell by calling to check up on their daughter. Sansa was relying on that.

And that her parents would never think Sansa Stark would lie to sneak out and spend the evening alone with a boy. 

She never would have. Before.

“Nerd,” Arya staged whispered across the dining room table after Sansa said it was never too early to start revision, and Sansa rolled her eyes instead of lecturing her sister as she might have done when she was younger. Arya stuck her tongue out at her.

All she took with her was a jacket and her phone, and standing at the edge of the Wolfswood beside Robb’s car, Sansa felt exposed without her sketchbook. Without Lady either, to help soothe her nerves.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Jon still wasn’t there and Sansa stared at the road, tapping her foot. They’d agreed to meet at seven. It was ten past.

Feeling Robb shift beside her, Sansa looked up at her big brother and he was frowning. Before she could ask why, he said, “I’m sorry Sansa.”

Rearing back a little, Sansa’s heart pounded as she whispered, “What for?”  
  
Had he told someone? What...

“That I can’t… do more. To help.”  
  
“You are helping,” she said, tugging him into a hug. They were almost the same height now. Hoping that would be enough, Sansa pulled back to give him a smile and he did the same.

Just then, the revs of a motorbike reached then and Sansa turned to see one speeding round the corner of the road.

_Jon._

Patting down her top and tucking a stray piece of her behind her ear, Sansa felt tingles wash over her fingertips. 

She told herself it was nerves to train for the first time, and that might have been it, but Sansa couldn’t deny the fact that she swallowed when he got off his bike and pulled off his helmet, his curls a mess and eyes so serious, focused on her.

_Oh no,_ she thought. _If I ever tell her, Margaery will be so smug._

  
{Jon}

  
_She looks nervous,_ Jon thought as he parked his bike up by the road, glancing over at where Sansa stood, her hands curled into fists with Robb by her side. 

He wouldn’t ever admit it - except maybe to Rhaenys if she prodded him enough - but he felt his nerves fraying slightly now he was here, actually doing this. It was one thing to say you’d help train your friend’s sister, who may be your soulmate, how to use her brand new gift, but it was different when you actually had to do it.

 _Help me not fuck this up_. He hoped someone was out there listening.

Coming to stand in front of them, Jon offered Sansa a smile, reminding himself that getting your gift was scary and lonely and utterly confusing, and a smile might help. It had helped him for sure.

Sansa smiled shyly at him, eyes bright and she seemed to be almost glowing in the golden, the evening light only just beginning to fade.

“You’ll be alright?” Robb was asking, and Jon tore his gaze away from her, praying his cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. 

Scratching at the back of his neck, Jon nodded and said, “We’ll be fine Robb.”

“I’ll call you when we’re done, Robb.”

“I can give you a lift back,” Jon blurted out, and both of the Starks stared at him. “If you want me to, that is.”

“Umm,” Sansa said, turning to look at her brother briefly, blushing, and Jon berated himself for being an absolute _idiot._ Why would she want to ride on a motorbike with effectively a total stranger?!

“Actually,” Jon scrambled for a way out, “I don’t have a second helmet with me, so -”

“Probably best if it’s the car tonight, mate,” Robb finished for him. 

Sansa said goodbye to her brother then, and Jon shifted his weight from side to side. He needed to sort himself out, what the hell was he doing?

_Don’t get attached._

His mantra didn’t seem to be working though, as when Sansa was done waving to Robb as he drove off and she came to stand next to him and smiled again, Jon felt warmth spreading through his chest. When she looked away, all Jon wanted in that moment was for her to smile at him again.

Rhaenys is going to throw a shoe at him. Robb might throw a brick.

Jon coughed and shook himself. “There’s a clearing, about a ten minute hike away.”

“Lead the way,” Sansa said softly, nodding.

They hiked through the Wolfswood mostly in silence, the woods quiet around them. It occurred to Jon when they were nearly at the clearing that maybe she had been waiting for him to speak, so he asked, “What A Levels do you take?”

_She’s never going to be able to relax and learn to control her powers with you if you don’t bloody speak to her._

“Fine art, English Literature, and Politics.”

“I take History, Business, and Politics,” he replied. His mind was blank of anything else to add. It had been easier to talk to her before, when they were discussing their gifts, but now they were making small talk, he felt seized by awkwardness.

Thankfully, Sansa saved him.

“Which is your favourite?”

“History. Though Glover’s awful.”

Behind him, Sansa chuckled lightly. “I’ve heard he’s not the best. Margaery and Jeyne aren’t looking forward to having him.”

"Margaery,” Jon repeated to himself, then louder so Sansa could hear, “Are Margaery and Robb…”

“Together?” Sansa filled in, taking a deep breath before she continued and Jon slowed his pace slightly, “Not yet.”

“The power of yet.”

“Indeed,” and Jon could have sworn he could hear a smirk in her voice.

Soon, they reached the clearing and Jon set his shoulders. He’d been thinking of how to train her and didn’t feel as hopeless as he had done, but still. It would be difficult to help her if he wasn’t concentrating.

And Sansa Stark was quite the distraction.

Again, he repeated to himself, _don’t get attached,_ before beckoning Sansa to come and sit by him.

“I think,” he began, “That we should start with the basics. What can you do already?”

She didn’t reply, twisting some of her hair round round her fingers, and so Jon ducked his head down, and said, “It’s alright Sansa. I’m here to help and you’re not alone, but I need to know about your gift to be able to train you.”

He needed to keep being honest with her if this was going to work. Needed to be gentle too.

“I can -” she stopped, then swallowed and continued, saying, “Lift things. And move them.”

“Does it only happen when your upset? Or angry?”

That was how it often was with gifted people, but still there was a flash of surprise across her face when he said it.

“Mostly,” she whispered and he could see her start to shake.

It had made her smile last time so Jon made some snow form on his fingertips and let them float towards her, to rest on her open palms.

Her _scarred_ palms. 

There wasn’t time to focus on that now though. He had to help her. _That_ was what Robb had asked him to do.

“Let’s see what you can do.”

Retrieving a stick from the edge of the clearing, Jon came back to sit next to her then placed the stick on the ground about two metres away.

“I did this when… after I found out…” 

There was a half-smile on Sansa’s lips as she said it, and Jon said, “Try it now.”

“You’re not scared?”

Sansa gulped as though she hadn’t meant to ask him that. She wouldn’t meet his eye.

“Are you scared of me?”

Jon tried to make his voice even and soft and blank, so as not to unnerve her, but underneath he desperately wanted her to say no. _Please say you’re not afraid of me._

“No. I’m not scared of you.”

When she met his eyes, that now familiar spark came to life between them making his eyes widen and Jon couldn’t look away. Neither did Sansa.

“We’re both tougher than we look,” Jon said, for something to say to fill the charged silence between them, but it must have been wrong as Sansa shook her head and turned her attention back towards the stick, reaching her hand out to it.

The tendons on her hand stood out as she strained and bent her fingers, clearly trying hard to move the stick, to pull it towards her. 

It didn’t move.

After a minute or so of trying, she huffed and lowered her arm, rubbing her eyes. Maybe if they knew each other better, or if he wasn’t a coward, he’d rub her back, let her know it would be okay. 

But Jon didn’t want to push it.

“What were you doing just then?”

Sansa frowned at him as if it were obvious, and it was really, but Jon had decided that to train her he needed to adapt her process of using her gift, how she was going about it. Start with the basics, like he had.

“I held out my hand,” Sansa started to explain slowly, switching between looking at the stick and at him, “And imagined the - my energy wrapping round it and pulling at it.”

“The pins and needles, right?”

“Yes,” she said in a clipped tone.

 _Go slow,_ he reminded himself, when he said, “You need to relax into your powers. You looked very tense just then and you need to be focused but not straining.”

When she stayed still, Jon encouraged her, saying, “Go on.”

This time when she reached out her arm, Jon told her to breathe and relax, and after a moments hesitation, he could see the tension bleed from her, her shoulders loosening.

“Close your eyes and just imagine spreading that energy outwards.”

As her arm started to shake, Jon impulsively laid a hand on it to steady her, and then he felt it like a wave, washing and breaking over him, the ebb of the energy she’d been talking about.

Where his hand rested, it felt warmer and sparks flew up his arm when her eyes flew open to look at him. His own gift stirred and Jon could feel it rising, ice crystals forming on his skin despite the heat he felt in his arm. 

It was like he was breathing properly for the first time, like he’d been underwater and his head had only just breached the surface.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the stick rising, and a smile broke over his face, he couldn’t help it.

The connection between them broke when she snapped her arm back, letting the stick thud to the ground and his hand fell to his side. 

They didn’t say anything right away as Sansa stared at her hands and Jon stared at her.

Did she feel that? She must have done. Surely.

Was that part of being soulmates? Your gifts being enhanced?

_What the fuck._

Sansa couldn’t lift the stick again when they tried a third time and he didn’t touch her. By the fifth attempt, it lifted half a metre off the ground and hovered there before falling suddenly.

Perhaps they were both stronger when they were touching…

Jon couldn’t mention it though. It was too soon. 

But had she even felt it?

It gnawed at him as they kept practising, but Jon bit his questions back, not wanting to freak her out or scare her. He’d just have to wait. And hope.

As they hiked back to his bike and the road, Jon remembered that he hadn’t asked her about blocking pills, _again,_ so he slowed down, waiting for her to fall into step with him.

“Sansa, have you heard of blocking pills?”

Disgust was plain on her face when she replied, “I don’t want them.”

“You might need them.”

Sansa jolted to a stop, whipping round to face him. “Why? I thought… Do you think I’m - dangerous?”

“No,” he said fiercely, shaking his head. His hand moved to take one of hers, but he pulled it back. “But when you get gifts later, they can be harder to control. They might be useful at school.”

“I won’t take them.”

“What if it was that or being taken away by a GS Team?”

That made her bite her lip, making them redder than they already were. Absently he wondered whether it was lipstick or something that made them so red, but he shook himself when she started speaking again.

“You’re training me to control it. I don’t need pills. And no one will get hurt.”

_That’s what everyone always thinks._

Despite her gentle voice, Sansa’s glare was cutting and he didn’t want to fight with her, especially not when he truly agreed with her.

“Alright,” he said with a shrug. _I’d better train you quickly then_ , he added in his head as they reached the road and Sansa called Robb.

“When should we train again?”

Sansa wasn’t looking at him when she asked, facing the road instead as he checked over his motorbike. 

“It’s up to you,” Jon said, feeling his heart sink - whatever easiness they’d had had dissipated into the night. He’d managed to mess it up _already_.

“I’m free on Thursday,” she said. She looked nervous again, her hands clenching and unclenching, and Jon wanted to believe he had heard hope in her voice, as if she wanted to train with him again so soon.

“Thursday then.”

And Jon thanked the gods because she smiled at him and he swallowed, another smile soon tugging at his lips.

He’d smiled more with her and in these past few weeks, than he ever had.

And he was leaving.

After Robb arrived, thanking him with a rough hug, and Sansa said goodbye with a wave, they both left, leaving Jon alone on an empty road with his bike.

The ride back to the Targaryens was a short one so Jon kept going, driving through Winterfell, round and round, letting the wind and the cool night air overtake him.

It had been alright in the end, just like he’d hoped it would be. He was helping a friend and it had gone well, so why did he feel so heavy? So weighed down? 

He’d always known he was going to leave. He had told himself so many times that he just had to survive the year and then he was going to go.

And yet…

Although he tried to hide it, tried to make himself blank, Rhaenys still noticed the dark cloud hanging over him, as she said, when he walked in the door, “What happened Jon?”

“Nothing.”

“I felt you coming up the driveway. It’s like you’ve got some kind of hurricane inside you.”

Shuffling past her, Jon just wanted to leave, escape to his room, because it _didn’t matter_ but Aegon blocked his path, smirking. “Brooding again, Johnny boy. About that girl?” 

“Fuck off Egg.”

“Jon, where have you been?” Elia said from the kitchen, frowning like she always was, arms crossed across her chest.

It was stupid that he was so irritated, there wasn’t really any reason to be and he knew it, but Jon could feel his frustration spiking at her typical disappointed tone, and spat, “With Robb actually.”

Elia tutted and said, “The Stark boy? Jon…”

But he wouldn’t - couldn’t hear it.

“Save it. I’ve heard it all before.” 

In his bedroom, Jon felt his anger leave him the moment he shut the door and locked it. Leaning his head against it, he sighed and started to count up and down out of habit.

He needed to get a grip.

He just had to train Sansa. For Robb. As a favour for his friend.

Even though Sansa was unfairly pretty with her red hair and soft smile. Even though she may be his soulmate, somehow…

_So much for not getting attached,_ he thought as he sat down heavily on his desk chair. Not even the mountains of work he had to do could distract him for long and his pencil case ended up half encased in ice.

He was leaving at the end of the Year 13. And that was a _good thing_. 

_Then why,_ he thought, lying down on his bed, _does it not bloody feel like it?_

“Sam, what do you about soulmates?”

Next to him, Sam started coughing, his face all of a sudden bright red, and Jon pounded his back twice until Sam waved him off, grimacing. No one else seemed to care as the bell had just rung and they were all streaming out of the room to head home.

“Why - why do you ask?”

“My sister wants to know.”

Sam crinkled his nose, thinking it over, and Jon bit his cheek, regretting his outburst. It was just he’d seen Sansa during lunchtime and she’d smiled at him, plainly, for everyone to see. 

He had to know more about their connection, because he’d felt it, bright in his chest like it always lived within his rib cage and only came alive when she looked at him. And when she used her powers the day before and he’d touched her...

He had to know. And then he’d tell her when Sam had found out more. 

She had enough to deal with for now without this too.

“Can you look into it for me?” Jon insisted, under his breath, “Would you mind?”

“Of course I can, Jon,” Sam said, finally tucking away all his notes and heaving up his backpack, struggling under its weight. It would only make Sam more embarrassed if he offered to help, so he patted his friend on the shoulder instead, saying, “Thank you.”

The corridor was heaving and Jon was too exhausted to put up with any more annoying twelve year olds so he shouldered through it as best he could without shoving anyone over or icing them.

When Dany appeared in front of him, Jon was tempted to ice her deliberately. 

“Why aren’t you coming to Romania?”

Her face was blank of any real emotion, like it was carved from stone, but there was a certain glint in her eye that made Jon clench his jaw and reply sharply, “I don’t know.”

She hummed, her mouth twisting, then she turned and disappeared into the throng of students filling the corridor.

Breathing deeply, Jon started to count down from ten as he went to his bike, but once he was on it, he had an idea and rather than heading home, he spun it round and rode into the centre of Winterfell, scanning the names of the streets he past.

After about fifteen minutes of driving and searching, and a quick google search, Jon parked up in front of a rough-looking pub called The Freefolk. 

_Worth a go,_ Jon thought, and he straightened his shoulders and stepped inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finding it a bit stressful writing this story as I've realised it's going to be over 65,000 words and I've never written anything that long before, and I don't want to let any of you down, so I'm like ahhhh. But hey, I hope this chapter is okay!
> 
> PS. I've made a collage for this fic and put it in chapter one, so that's fun :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recap of Chapter 5 (as I know it's been awhile):  
> Sansa worries about her slight-maybe crush on Jon and goes to the cinema with Jeyne, where they have a heart to heart. Jon and Sansa train together, and Jon is nervous, as he wants her to be relaxed with him and suspects she's his soulmate. Jon asks Sam to look into soulmates for him and goes to the Freefolk Bar.

✨

{Sansa}

“Again.”

Jon’s voice was soft, gentle, but it still grated on her, as the soft balls fell to the damp ground yet again.

She must look so _stupid_ , like a child still unable to walk, stumbling and tripping over and over, and she hated it.

This was the fourth time she’d trained with Jon and he’d been telling her that she was getting better, and yet she _couldn’t_ keep the balls suspended in the air, twirling them round as if she was juggling them. And she’d practised too, so as not to make a fool of herself in front of him.

_Don’t cry as if you do, he’ll definitely think you’re a foolish girl._

This time, Sansa set her jaw and took a breath, breathing in and out as Jon did, and she uncurled her hands and tried again.

Just as Sansa lifted her hands, shaking only a little, she felt something on her back, a flutter almost, hardly any pressure at all, and warmth spread over her and when Sansa pushed her energy out, the balls lifted into the air and danced.

Sansa couldn’t help the smile which broke over her face and she turned to share it with Jon, who sat cross-legged beside her, and even in the drizzle and half-light, he stole some of the breath from her lungs.

He smiled back at her and the band ever tight round Sansa’s chest loosened, though Sansa tried to deny it.

_He’s Robb’s friend, he’s just here to help Robb._

He was still smiling at her, eyes all crinkled, and it was like sparks ignited all over her skin, and Sansa ducked her head, letting her hair fall between them a curtain to hide herself and what she was _not_ feeling, all of it still rolling and surging within her.

 _Whatever this is, it’s not worth it,_ she tried to tell herself, a habit now.

Like it had for the past two weeks, Sansa’s heart refused to listen.

“Are you always in control of your gift?” Sansa asked, trying to pull her thoughts in close so they didn’t spiral into the evening sky.

“Sometimes,” he said then was quiet, letting their breathing and the sounds of the Wolfswood swell between them again. He seemed to always be soft with her, like he thought her fragile. _Or precious. Or dangerous._..

And because she was torn, because Joffrey had texted her and had… Because his eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled, something she’d only noticed a few days ago, Sansa found the question spilling from her lips, hands trembling – “How do you – manage, knowing you can… hurt people?”

It had been burning at her and she had to know. Knowing her gift was ever thrumming beneath her skin, ever a moment from lashing out and harming someone, someone she cared about…

If it wasn’t for Lady, Sansa didn’t know how she’d be able to sleep.

Risking a glance, Sansa looked through her hair at Jon who was looking back, his gaze a weight upon her.

“You won’t hurt anyone, Sansa.”

And Sansa held her breath when his hand rose, as if he was going to touch her hair and tuck it behind her ear, but he pulled it back instead. Sansa didn’t know if she was disappointed or something else.

“You don’t know that, Jon.”

He was shaking his head before she’d even finished speaking, and said, “I do.”

After a pause, Jon rocked towards her and grinned saying, “If I can control it and not ice Rhaegar every single day then you can too.”

“It’s easy not to freeze people when you don’t have ice powers.”

Jon’s grin got wider and then he nodded towards the juggling balls again – “You’re getting better Sansa. Try again.”

Half an hour later, as the sky began to darken and cloud over and Jon had her practising her concentration by lifting as many fallen leaves as she could, her phone began to buzz in her pocket.

 _It might not be him,_ she thought, gulping and sending the leaves drifting down, heart pounding as she reached down to take out her phone.

But it was only Margaery, and Sansa’s heart stuttered for a wholly different reason and she blushed, standing and moving away from Jon’s gaze to answer.

“Hey Marge.”

“Black or red?”

For Margaery to choose to call her, when she’d only done so a handful of times before, must make it important, but for the life of her, Sansa couldn’t work out why.

“What?”

A dramatic sigh came out of the phone and Sansa rolled her eyes as Margaery responded, “For your brother! Does he prefer black or red?”

“Marge, are you asking me whether Robb refers black or red… for lingerie?”

“Of course, darling.”

“Marge!” Sansa squawked, and her friend chuckled and Sansa could practically hear the smirk in Margery’s voice when she said, “I’m teasing, though that does remind me that I will need to purchase some for his enjoyment. No, I need to know for the dress I’m going to wear to the small gathering Loras is planning to have next month.”

“Oh,” Sansa said, pressing a hand to her still warm cheeks. She supported Margaery in all her conquests and knew Robb didn’t stand a chance, so she should have been expecting an interrogation before now. “Red is more your colour.”

“Yes?”

“Marge, you could wear a bin bag and I don’t think Robb would mind. But he’s still my brother so please ask Jeyne first next time!”

Margaery just laughed and hung up, and Sansa shook her head, a grin on her lips.

“Everything okay?”

Jon’s voice was careful and he hovered close to her, and Sansa listened to her indulgent thoughts that it was as though he was ready to step forward and defend her, protect her.

It was like he was making a special effort to be gentle with her. He would be the first who ever did…

“Margaery is working on ensnaring Robb.”

Cocking an eyebrow, Jon said, “Not managed it yet?”

“The power of yet,” she parroted back to him, remembering that she’d said the words last week and it only made Jon’s smile wider.

 _Damned smile,_ Sansa grumbled to herself and she had to look away.

“When did you meet her?”

When Sansa’s eyes snapped back to his, Jon was moving to sit down again on the soft earth and so she did too.

This was different - this was small talk, but it wasn’t necessary or anything. This was… like a date, a voice whispered, and Sansa shoved that thought away. She couldn’t dwell on that, not here, not now.

“Year 8, I think. And, the same with Jeyne,” Sansa said, just as it started to drizzle, making her grimace. Her jumper wasn’t the most practical item of clothing she could have worn - if Catelyn had known where she was going without a coat she would have frowned, her mouth twisting. She should have known better. 

Her jumper _was_ pretty though.

Sighing and scraping her hair round, Sansa begun to plait it so it didn’t get too frizzy, luckily having a scrunchie to tie it off with. Jon’s eyes seemed to dart around, like he was tracing over her hair, her hands, but Sansa was distracted when he started shrugging out of his jacket.

“Here,” he said, holding it out, a determined look in his eye, “You’re jumper is getting wet, so…”

His jacket? 

Nodding too much, Sansa sputtered a thank you, and her cheeks must have been burning when she pulled the leather jacket on, because it was so warm and swallowed her up, despite the fact that she was taller than him. And Sansa could have sworn it smelled a little like him too, though maybe she just wanted that to be true. 

But there was no time for her to admonish herself, because Jon was leaning forwards.

His hand lifted once more, and this time, this time he did touch her as he pulled the end of her plait out from under the collar of his jacket and delicately laid it on top of it.

 _I’m sure that was strictly platonic,_ Sansa thought wildly before clamping down on her tumbling thoughts. _Robb’s friend, Robb’s close friend who has a gift and is kind and sweet and -_

“I know you’re doing this for Robb,” Sansa rushed to say, interrupting her own thoughts, needing it to be voiced to remind herself of reality, “So thank you. I guess.”

Gods, tonight she was losing herself, her mantras were nowhere to be seen and the walls of her mind and of her heart were cracking.

_Be steel, Sansa. Be stone._

“Uh, it’s no problem,” Jon said, rubbing at the back of his neck, “I know what it’s like, and if you need anything Sansa, I want to help.”

“Robb will be pleased that I'm improving, so you are helping already, Jon.”

_Yet am I better? Am I good enough?_

A frown was etched on his forehead, a small crease appearing as he looked at her, and Sansa swallowed and said, wincing a little at the slight shake of her voice, “But I need to get better, after yesterday especially.”

Sansa winced. She shouldn’t have said that.

Before he could even ask, Sansa murmured, “Rickon fell off his bike and - I made it shake. Afterwards.”

Rickon had had so much energy after school and football and walking the dogs with Ned, that Sansa had been tasked by Catelyn to tire him out. Arya said she’d come but only if they went cycling as only sad and lonely people went running. 

And so, they’d gone out and Rickon had been going to fast and Sansa can _still_ feel the way her heart had leapt into her throat, seeing him end up sprawled at the side of the road, blood dripping from a shallow cut on his arm.

As Arya had rung Ned, Sansa’s nails had pressed into her palm and the bike had rattled, the tire soon popping, the metal distorting before she’d opened her eyes seconds later to give Rickon a wavering smile that was all she could manage.

“Was Rickon alright? Were you?”

Sansa nodded and stood, blinking and pulling a hand down her face. _Breathe..._

“We’ll practise then. For a bit longer,” Jon said and as he shifted to stand, Sansa reached down, jacket almost covering her whole hand as she grasped his.

Gods, it was like electricity rushed over her, crackling across her skin, the hair on her arm rising tall. 

Jerking backwards, Sansa pulled Jon upwards, eyes locked on his and Sansa’s mind was empty, white noise and static overcoming her.

What - 

That was stronger than - than the times before when Sansa had thought there’d be something there, like lightning.

His gaze pinning her, Jon didn’t let her eyes fall away and his hand held hers tighter.

Sansa was the first to pull away.

What was _that_? She’d imagined it the first time, surely… 

Mind scrambling to find sense and fingers tingling, itching for something she couldn’t name, and Sansa couldn’t breathe.

“Sansa?” Jon’s voice was rough, close to her ear, his breath fanning over her and Sansa shivered.

“I’ll lift them up again,” she said brusquely, brushing past him and lifting up her arms, all whilst wrestling with her panicked thoughts which would drown her if they could.

_Lock it away, Sansa. Lock it all away._

Pins and needles coated her fingertips again, just as they always did, but this time, _this time,_ they were somehow stronger and Sansa felt her mouth fall open as the balls span upwards, almost to the treetops. When Sansa threw down her arms, the balls thudded to the ground, crashing into the ground, forming small craters.

 _That’s new,_ was all she could think, staring at the ground.

“Ugh,” Jon said, sounding as stunned as she felt.

Was she ever going to be able to do this?

As if hearing her thoughts, Jon said, “We can practise again next Wednesday, alright.”

But Sansa remained silent and flexed her hands.

“It’ll be fine, Sansa. You’ll be fine.”

Nodding, Sansa thought, _I will be. I have to be,_ and made her lips curl upwards into a smile for him.

“I’ll call Robb then,” she said, and Jon replied, hands buried deep in his pockets, “I can give you a lift back.”

_Oh no._ Butterflies came to life in her stomach and Sansa sucked in a breath, eyes widening.

She didn’t have a crush on him, she refused to think that was the case, but a motorbike was a motorbike.

She was just a girl, she couldn’t help it.

_Silly, stupid butterflies._

“Are you sure?” Sansa said, scuffing the ground with her shoes, a poor habit she should really get rid of.

“Yes, I ugh,” - Jon rubbed the back of his neck again, maybe it was a nervous tick, - “I have two helmets with me.”

Telling herself this was nothing special, that her heart shouldn’t be beating so fast, Sansa murmured, “My father wouldn’t like it.”

“Don’t think mine does either,” Jon shrugged. “But you’re safe with me.”

As she followed Jon back through the Wolfswood to the road, Sansa felt she had to ask, “If your father doesn’t like it, why does he let you keep riding it?”

It looked as though Jon stumbled a bit at her words, but he kept going, saying over his shoulder, “He can’t stop me. It’s my teenage rebellion.”

“You sound like you like him as much as Robb or my parents do.”

Jon turned to squint at her, and Sansa elaborated, saying, “Not very much.”

Though he faced forwards once again, Sansa didn’t miss the half-smirk on his face.

By the time they’d neared his motorbike, Sansa’s hands were starting to sweat - she was really doing this, she was going to let Jon Snow take her back home on his death trap, she was going to have to sit right behind him and _hold on to him._ She was going to have to touch him again… would _that_ feeling come back...

Jon, on the other hand, didn’t look nervous about it at all, handing her his spare helmet with a small smile before tugging on his own, no doubt squashing his curls. _A shame,_ Sansa thought, and quickly looked away.

Telling herself not to think about it too much, Sansa pulled the other helmet on and fiddled with her braid whilst Jon checked over the bike.

“I can wait whilst you call Robb, if you’d rather do that Sansa,” he said, swinging a leg over the bike. “It’s alright.”  
  
“No, no,” Sansa said, face heating as she went over to the bike and gingerly climbed on behind him.

It felt odd, but Sansa was immediately distracted from that when Jon started the bike, and she wrapped her arms round his middle, tucking her face against his shoulder blades as best as she could.

As Jon kicked off, Sansa only half-thought that his stomach muscles felt unbelievably hard beneath her palms, because her mind was mainly loud with panic, her eyes squeezing tightly shut.

She could have sworn she heard him say, “I’ve got you.”

Wind whipping round them, Sansa counted up and down, her heart feeling as though it was going to spring from her chest.

But as she begun to relax, it wasn’t really so awful. The rubble of the bike washed over her and Jon was warm, a comfort against the drizzle that still fell upon them as they sped into Winterfell. 

Through her lashes, Sansa could almost see the houses blurring past and had only, finally, opened her eyes fully when she felt the bike slowing and noticed her house was just up the road, lights still blazing into the night. 

Awkwardness rushed over her then. Hurrying to get out of his way, to get off the bike before her parents could see that it wasn’t Margaery bringing her home but _Jon_ , Sansa tripped on the curve, but Jon was there, a large hand clutching her upper arm to keep her from falling onto the pavement.

“Th - thanks,” Sansa whispered, and Jon nodded, coughing and stepping back.

They stood there, and Sansa wanted to get inside now, the cold seeping into her, but Jon wasn’t saying anything so she couldn’t either.

Why wasn’t he saying anything?

“Could I, ugh, have the helmet back? Unless -”

“Oh right!” Yanking it off, pain shot through her skull as it ripped at her hair, but still Sansa tried to pass it back with a smile. 

As Jon moved back to his bike, after Sansa passed his jacket back to him too, she said, “Text me when you’re free to train again,” and he nodded, saying, “Goodnight, Sansa.”

Sansa only heard the revs of the bike when she stood by her front door, and by the time she’d unlocked it and turned round, Jon was gone.

“Jon bring you back?”

Robb’s voice from the bottom of the stairs made her jump, and Sansa put a hand to her chest, saying, “Robb!”

“You okay, Sans?” 

Before he could come and take her hand, Sansa pushed away from the door and moved past him to go up the stairs, saying, “I’m fine, you just surprised me. And yes, Jon, um, brought me home.”

His forehead creasing, Robb’s mouth twisted and he said, “You could have called, Sansa.”

Shame laced itself through her chest at his words and Sansa hung her head, pausing in her ascent of the stairs. “I’ll let you know next time. Sorry.”

“No, I mean you could have called me to pick you up,” Robb amended, then he asked, jaw clenching, “He didn’t force you to, did he?”

“He offered and I accepted, Robb, it wasn’t anything like that.”

Robb let her go then, and Sansa retreated to her room, placing her damp clothes in the wash and getting into her softest pyjamas, settling onto her bed with Lady beside her.

Feeling the need to sketch, Sansa stretched to reach her desk and though she could grab her sketchbook, her pencil case remained too far away, because nothing was ever easy for her.

But as Sansa huffed and nudged Lady off her foot, it occurred to Sansa that she didn’t need to get up. 

She _did_ have her gift after all.

Straightening her back, Sansa raised her arm, shoulders tense, but recalling what Jon had said, tried to loosen them, breathing deeply.

It seemed too easy to let her energy pulse outwards and pull her pencil case towards her, and it hardly shook, coming to nestle in her hand.

And a smile unfurled on her lips, the air in her lungs flowing out in a rush. _I did it._

_Thanks to Jon._

Sighing, Sansa started to draw, the other hand carding through Lady’s hair.

She couldn’t get heartbroken again, she wouldn’t let herself. That wasn’t what was happening.

It was natural, she told herself, furiously sketching out Rickon’s wild hair, something her hands always knew how to draw. Jon is nice and she’d spent a while alone with him.

And she could admit he was handsome. 

And there was that _thing_ between, the thing she couldn’t explain…

The tip of her pencil snapped and Sansa shut her eyes.

When she opened them, she pushed it all away, burying it with the thought that Jon probably saw her only as his friend’s sister anyway.

Sansa held onto this as she went into school the next day, sketchbook clutched against her chest and overnight bag digging into her shoulder.

She was never going to do well at A Level, never going to get her three As, if she was always distracted and so whilst Margaery and Jeyne chatted beside her in form, Sansa ordered herself, boxing away her worries and confusions.

 _I need a new list_ , she thought.

“Dickon keeps looking at you.” The corner of Jeyne’s mouth hardly moved when she murmured it to Sansa, and beyond Jeyne’s shoulder, Margaery was resting her forehead against her fingertips, eyes flickering deliberately between Sansa and presumably Dickon behind her.

The only reason Sansa didn’t sigh loudly was that it would have been rude to Dickon, but truly Dickon didn’t matter to her. Not now.

He’d spoken to her all of two times, and Sansa felt nothing at all for him, as if ice had captured her heart.

“So?” Sansa said lowly, looking down and thumbing through her planner.

“So!” Margaery said forcefully and Sansa rolled her eyes, thanking the gods when her friends left her alone when she didn’t say anything else.

In art, Shae left them to their own devices, telling them to add to their sketchbooks and show her what they had accomplished at the end of the hour.

Expecting more questions from Jeyne, Sansa was slow in her unpacking of her back, but Jeyne just said with half a laugh, “I’m not the Spanish Inquisition, Sansa, you can get painting.”

Today Sansa had chosen to do a painting of a photograph she’d taken at the weekend of her mother in her old, flour coated apron, bending over a mixing bowl, caught in the afternoon sunlight.

Aware of the seconds ticking by, Sansa got to work, sparingly dispensing her acrylics and dabbing them onto her page.

Catelyn had been baking some cupcakes for them to take to Aunt Lysa’s and had roped Sansa into helping when she’d noticed her in the kitchen’s doorway. Usually the whole family visited Aunt Lysa, except sometimes her father, but this time, it was only Sansa and Catelyn.

Her mother had asked for company, so naturally Sansa had said she’d go. The guilt would have been terrible if she hadn’t.

Lysa hadn’t seemed quite as paranoid, as unstable, as usual when they visited, but had gripped Sansa’s hand tightly, and told them gleefully that an old friend had come to see her, and only her.

Her voice had shaken and Sansa remembered how she’d instinctively pulled her hand back, rubbing it over and over on her jeans until they returned home.

 _We all look so similar,_ Sansa thought as she mixed the shades of red together to capture the Tully hair they shared. _I might even be more like Lysa._

The thought made her shiver, and Sansa shook herself and kept on painting.

By lunchtime, Sansa felt weighted down again, like she’d fall into the earth, and Jeyne said nothing when she slid a slice of lemon cake towards Sansa and patted her shoulder, before starting to eat.

She really needed to do something nice for Jeyne and Margaery soon. They deserved it.

Margaery then sat up tall and flicked her hair over her shoulder, preening herself, and Sansa heard Robb say, in a voice that she thought was somewhat strangled, “Sansa, I need to stay and work so I, um, can’t drive you home.”

“We’re going to Starbucks and then she’s staying over at mine,” Margaery said before Sansa could reply. As Jeyne was busy all weekend, Marge had insisted on a mid-week sleepover and they were powerless but to agree.

“Oh,” Robb said, and Sansa looked up from her plate at his deflated tone, but then saw Jon making his way over.

And Sansa smiled, despite everyone being able to see, and he did too, nodding to them all in greeting and saying to Robb, “We need to stop Theon.”

“From what?” Jeyne said, “Doing something destructive?”

“Duh,” Robb said, “The man can’t help himself. It’ll be his own fault, Jon. Chill.”

Margaery perked up and said, “Yes, so sit with us for a bit.”

Robb didn’t take much convincing and went to sit beside Margaery, leaving the only free space at the table next to Sansa.

Before Jon could though, nearby someone drawled, “Yeah, there she is.”

 _Please no._ Sansa stiffened, wanting to pray for Joffrey to not come any closer, eyes closed and head bowed.

But Sansa felt Jon shift beside her and a rustling sound, and Sansa saw that he’d blocked her from view, his hands in fists beside him, and Sansa felt calmness rush over her, warmth at the sight of ice crystals forming over his knuckles.

The whole table was silent but Sansa refused to look past Jon and though it seemed like minutes, it must have been only a few seconds until Jon came to sit down, still glowering at people past her shoulder.

It would be too weird to thank him, like a confession too, so she said nothing except to offer him the last bit of the lemon cake.

The other side of the table was bright and loud as Margaery and Robb flirted and Jeyne teased them both, whilst Sansa and Jon sat quietly, not knowing what to say, or perhaps knowing nothing needed to be said.

When the bell rang, Sansa stood, brushing crumbs off her skirt and it was there on her tongue to ask Jon to come to politics with her so she wouldn’t have to speak to, or even look at, Mr Baelish alone.

She couldn’t, but Sansa wished she could.

The lesson was a complex one, yet Sansa still felt his eyes on her. Soon, soon she’d be able to wash him off of her skin.

“A word please, Sansa,” Mr Baelish said, when Sansa was leaving the classroom and it felt as though cold water had been thrown over her, her hands already shaking slightly.

 _Starks don’t tremble,_ Sansa thought, going and standing closer to his desk yet still far from his reach. _Get it together._

“Are you feeling well, Miss Stark?”

This time his eyes were fixed on her face and Sansa smoothed her features into stone, hiding her panic far below. He doesn’t know, surely he doesn’t…

“Yes, sir.”

Mr Baelish pursed his lips and continued, saying, with an edge to his voice, “If you have any trouble do come to me. About your work load, exams, or of course universities.”

Accidentally, foolishly, Sansa felt herself frown and wanted to kick herself.

“Yes,” Mr Baelish said smoothly, seeing her confusion for what it was, “I will be writing you a reference when the time comes, and I supervise applications as well. You do wish to go, don’t you Miss Stark? We wouldn’t want to waste such talent.”

“I do,” Sansa said, straining to remain still, and not cower, not to rip him apart as pins and needles curled over and round her fingers.

Two knocks on the open door, and they both turned and relief flooded Sansa when another student poked their head round the doorframe and said, “Can we come in now, sir?”

“Thank you, Mr Baelish,” Sansa said, already turning to haul up her bag and leave the stifling classroom. She didn’t look back.

“One pumpkin spiced latte,” Jeyne said, balancing the drinks tray with her other hand as she passed Sansa’s drink back to her.

“I may be driving, but I still want mine!” Margaery said indignantly whilst checking out her side mirrors and turning onto Winterfell’s main road.

“Patience!” Jeyne said, and Sansa sipped her drink in the back seat as the two of them started bickering.

It made her feel safe, being there with them both. They were the same as they’d always been and treated her the same too.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Sansa took out her sketchbook to make a new list on the back of her latest quick sketch of Jon, like she said she would.

1) Baelish…

2) Jon

3) My Gift. 

4) A Levels = mocks soon

5) Joffrey (?)

It would be easier if her friends knew, if someone other than Robb and Jon did. In the end, Jeyne and Margaery and Robb as well as Arya knowing about Joffrey had helped. This could be the same…

“Come on, babes, I’ve got popcorn and vodka and lemonade.”

Snapping her sketchbook closed, Sansa clambered out of the car after Margaery and Jeyne, saying, “We can’t drink on a school night.”

“Wimp,” Jeyne said with an impish grin, climbing the front steps two at a time, then calling back, “Your grandmother here, Marge?”

Margery shook her head as she went and knocked on the front door. “She’s away till tomorrow. Something high level.”

“And you couldn’t find out what it was?” Sansa asked.

With the expected level of dramatic flair, Margaery huffed and said, “I can’t exactly seduce my grandmother to get information out of her!”

Her friend’s smiles were infectious, and Sansa’s mood lightened as they made their way inside, thanking one of the Tyrell’s many butlers as they past.

“Whatcha drawing?”

“Hmmm,” Sansa said, drawn back to the present as Jeyne peered over her shoulder, clearly having finished having her nails painted by Margaery. They were all in their pyjamas at last with Sense and Sensibility playing quietly in the background.

“Jon?” Margaery piped up, lying on her bed to poke at Sansa’s arm.

Covering the page as best she could, Sansa swallowed and said, “No.”

“Bet you’ve drawn him before though,” Jeyne said and before Sansa could stop her, she’d snatched her sketchbook out from under her fingertips.

“Jeyne, no!”

But they were already flicking through it, giggling as they stopped at her last sketch of Jon.

“You drawn when you’re thinking stuff through Sans,” Margaery said, tracing Jon’s curls, “Knew he’d be here.”

Jeyne turned the page then and froze. Sansa’s stomach plummeted as Jeyne’s then Margaery’s mouths dropped open.

With shaking hands, Sansa stood and held onto the back of the sofa, and said, “It’s – it’s not what –“

“You’re gifted?” Jeyne asked, and Sansa shrunk back against the serious look in her eye, rocking forwards and backwards.

“Sans, it’s alright,” Margaery soothed, standing up slowly and coming to stand less than a metre from her. “You don’t have to tell us.”

Sansa was going to be sick, her head was spinning. But still, there was some relief there – now they finally knew.

“Yes, I am – gifted.”

To prove it, Sansa levitated the sketchbook out of Jeyne’s hands and into her own, placing it on the sofa without meeting her friend’s eyes.

“That’s – amazing,” Jeyne breathed, and Sansa wrung her hands and said, “I couldn’t tell you. Not until I could control it a little more.”

“You don’t ever have to tell us anything you don’t want to,” Margaery said, lightly rubbing Sansa’s back. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I know you want to hear everything, Marge,” Sansa said, looking at them both then frowning. “You can’ tell anyone. Only Robb and Jon know right now.”

“We won’t,” Jeyne said solemnly, as Margaery clapped her hands together, saying, “Jon!”

And damn it, her cheeks were heating up, now her panic was subsiding and her friends were clearly on her side, now there was no reason to be afraid, just embarrassed – “Yes. He’s, ugh, been helping me train.”

“Girl! Iceman has been training you! Alone! Spill the tea!” Margaery’s eyes were bright with such exciting news, then she checked herself, and said, “If you want to.”

And they were both so kind, and Sansa had known they would be, that she couldn’t help but smile and move to sit on the bed with them both and starting to speak.

“I found out I was gifted when… a few weeks ago, and accidentally told Robb. I couldn’t control it and he asked Jon to help me. We’ve met up about four times now.”

“Damn,” Jeyne muttered, “I guess this answers our questions about what gift we’d like to have.”

“You could be a superhero now!” Margaery squealed, “With Jon as your partner, yes.”

They didn’t have to know about the spark between her and Jon, but looking at them, Sansa actually wanted to open up to them more, to let them in.

Then finally she’d have someone other than Lady and her sketchbook to talk to about it. And she needed to admit the truth to herself too.

“That’s the thing,” Sansa said slowly, dragging it out, and both her friends leaned forwards, “I may have accidentally. Um. Started to _like_ Jon. A little.”

“His motorbike is irresistible! Poor Dickon!”

Jeyne shoved at Margaery, and said, “I thought you weren’t looking for anything like that, right now. You know.”

Sansa shrugged. “I can’t help it. But it’s nothing serious, I –“

“Do you want it to be something serious? I can make that happen,” Margaery said firmly.

“No, no,” Sansa said, wrapping strands of her hair round her fingers, “He doesn’t think of me like that.”

“Bullshit,” Jeyne said. 

“And our families don’t like each other!” Sansa reminded them, but Margaery was already shaking her head – “You don’t have to make everyone else happy, only yourself.”

“I guess.”

They sat there with only the sounds of Sense and Sensibility filling the air around them, and Sansa let them absorb the news. It had taken her long enough.

As they did that, with Jeyne murmuring, “I can’t believe it,” Sansa retrieved her phone and impulsively set a message to Jon, her chest feeling lighter now they both knew.

[Sansa]

I’ve told Jeyne and Margaery by the way.

He answered four minutes later.

[Jon]

Good. It’s better when the people you’re closest to know.

_You knew before either of them,_ Sansa thought, a fluttering in her chest.

 _It’s only a small, maybe crush,_ Sansa admitted then, not letting the thought be pushed under, _But it’ll be alright._

_It’ll be alright._

-

{Jon}

Locking his phone, Jon sighed.

 _She’s told someone._ The thought made Jon’s stomach knot for some reason.

He didn’t know if Sansa wanted everyone to know, didn’t know if she’d be able to handle the whole school finding out because that’s what always happened – if more than a handful of people knew you were gifted, everyone would know sooner or later.

And she’d have to be able to control it by then.

Again, Jon sighed, and lay back on his bed, scrubbing a hand down his face.

She was strong, that was clear. And even stronger when they touched.

That thought made sparks dance over his palms, and even the hair on his arms swayed up.

_Gods, she must feel it too._

He’d seen the look on her face when she’d helped him up, she had to have felt it. And then Sansa had thrown the balls so high up in the air, far higher than she’d done before.

Jon almost texted Sam about it, there and then, but put his phone back down. It’d be better to talk face to face at school. Safer that way.

If being soulmates made both their gifts stronger, far stronger, he needed to keep training her, and train her better. If her friends knew, she couldn’t afford any mistakes.

No one wanted to get the GS Team involved.

There was no point trying to sleep then, though Jon tried, because his mind was buzzing with Sansa Stark, with her gifts and her conviction and their connection, the way she’d looked wearing _his_ jacket and her red, red hair…

Later, with his eyes half-closed, Jon texted her goodnight and waited, screen lit to see if she’d respond. 

Soon, she did.

“Sam?” Jon whispered, trying to blend in with the general hum in the library.

Sam was buried behind a small mountain of books, the work now beginning to pile up with mocks on the horizon. Sam wanted A* and was predicted them too. Jon’s expectations were far lower.

After Jon repeated his name, Sam looked up, eyes slightly bleary. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Jon said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I was just, ugh, wondering what you’d found out, about soulmates.”

It was like a light switch had been flicked on as Sam clapped his hands together and scooted closer to Jon’s side of the table, grinning.

“Oh, it’s very interesting, such a unique field,” he gushed, “There isn’t as much reading as I’d like really, what with people being so worried about it and with the law and everything but –“

“Sam,” Jon interrupted. People were always watching him and talking, and Sam’s voice had been steadily rising in his excitement. This wasn’t something he wanted others to know about right now. Or ever.

“Yes, right, well.” Sam screwed up his mouth and then begun again.

“From what little research there is available, I found out a little. Well, soulmates are theoretically connections of consciousness which gifted individuals can develop, only very rarely. It’s…”

Sam paused, glanced around, then shuffled in closer, as Jon’s heart started to pound unevenly in his chest.

“It’s a connection based on the link between people’s powers, so soulmates tend to enhance one another’s gifts. That’s the main… symptom.”

Jon winced at that but thankfully Sam didn’t notice.

“But people can also develop an emotional bond too, which is why people call them soulmates. People have said they’d been able to sense the other person’s emotions if they were extreme enough, that they were ‘in tune’ with one another as it were…”

“Thank you, Sam. Are there any other… implications?” Jon asked, wiping his damp hands on his trousers.

Sam shook his head.

“No one really knows. They don’t want people looking into it too much. It can be dangerous. Jon, has your sister declared it?”

Thrown, Jon jerked back slightly and said, “What?”

“Has your sister told someone about her having a soulmate? If she knows her gifts are stronger, then they highly recommend that she reports it so it can be put on file.”

Clenching his jaw, Jon said, “No. I don’t think that’s what Rhaenys feels.”

“She’d know wouldn’t she, being an empath,” Sam chuckled.

 _Yeah,_ Jon thought, _she knows all sorts being an empath._

What Sam had said may not be what Rhaenys feels, but it sure felt like what he did.

Sansa’s gifts had been stronger too, after he’d touched her those two times. And the look in her eyes when those sparks had come alive between them…

_We really are soulmates._

_What the actual fuck._

Jon had thought they were, had _felt_ it, but having it confirmed was making his head spin.

But… she thought he was doing all this just for Robb. Which he was. Kind of.

She wouldn’t want a guy like him to declare them soulmates, she surely wouldn’t want that.

Sansa had enough to deal with, without having to hide more of who she is, so the GS Team would never come for her. And she had her A Levels, and Joffrey fucking Baratheon, to cope with without a soulmate too.

Gods, yesterday, he’d been so close to punching Joffrey right there in the canteen. It was only the knowledge that that would have embarrassed Sansa, and raised too many awkward questions with Robb, that held him back.

“What do you know about Joffrey Baratheon?”

His outburst had Sam turning back to him and shushing him with a finger to his lips.

“He’s in the year below, yes?”

Jon nodded and said, “He’s gifted.”

“What! That’s… “- his eyes flickering about the room, Sam moved his head side to side, considering it - “That isn’t too unbelievable. His family is an old one after all. What is it?”

 _Wish I knew._ Jon shrugged and said, “I just know he’s got powers.”

“Sorry, Jon, I don’t know anything really apart from that his family is rich and too proud of themselves, father says.”

_That couldn’t stop me bashing his head in or freezing him into an ice block so thick no one could get him out. He wouldn’t be able to hurt Sansa again that way._

Just from seeing his stupid smirk a few times, Jon knew Joffrey would deserve it.

Letting Sam get back to his upsettingly large pile of papers, Jon formed snowflakes on his pencil, wrapping them round and round until it was white and the bell for lunchtime rang.

“You’ll be careful, won’t you Jon.”

Sam’s voice was soft, and when Jon glanced at him, Sam was worrying his bottom lip, staring at Jon, staring into him.

“Only,” Sam said, half-shrugging, “You’re the only true friend I have here. Probably wouldn’t get through Glover’s without you.”

Reaching out, Jon took a hold of his shoulder, and gave his friend a smile.

He may be leaving at the end of the year, but he could still be here for Sam till then.

“I’m always careful,” Jon said, and Sam scoffed a little and said, “Somehow I doubt that. Come on, let’s go to lunch.”

Robb and Theon were already sitting there, trays piled high with food. Jon didn’t know how they managed to carry them over to the table, let alone eat it all. But he wasn’t exactly a lean eater himself.

“I think,” Theon said round a mouthful of chips, getting them everywhere, “A Levels are actually killing me.”

“I’m going to actually kill you if you keep eating like that,” Robb said, throwing a chip at Theon and rolling his eyes when Theon tried to catch it.

“A levels are meant to be tricky,” Sam said sagely, and Jon groaned along with the other two.

“Tricky is one thing, but these seem impossible,” Theon said, shaking his head. Jon did agree with that. He may be distracted by everything else at the moment - with Sansa, Rhaegar, the bar – but still, A levels felt like a tsunami looming forever on the horizon, waiting to drown them all.

“Mocks are coming up,” Sam said, “They’re trying to prepare us.”

“You’re being too reasonable for this Greyjoy to understand,” Robb said, shoving his friend’s shoulder, “Dumb it down a bit.”

“Hilarious,” Theon grunted, then looking round at them all, said, “What are you all predicted anyway?”

“Three As,” Robb said immediately. Jon’s heart sank at that. He would never be able to get that, not even if he worked tirelessly for the whole year. He just couldn’t do it.

_Would Sansa be disappointed?_

They’d never really spoken about school during their training sessions, small talk quickly falling by the wayside when there was more important things to be doing. But, with Robb doing so well, it made sense for Sansa to be a high achiever too.

And he wasn’t one.

Jon frowned and picked at the chips on his plate.

 _There isn’t much point worrying over it though,_ he reminded himself glumly, _she still thinks you’re only doing all this for Robb._

Maybe he’ll only ever be Robb’s friend to her...

His stomach knotting at that, Jon shoved more chips into his mouth and tried to focus on the others around the table, tried to pull himself up and out of his own thoughts. Aegon teased him that he brooded too much, and he didn’t need anyone else to start.

“I’ll give you £100 for every A* you get,” Theon was saying to Robb, looking far too pleased for a man betting badly, as Robb shook his hand firmly and said, “You’re gonna lose that money. I bet you won’t get an A, so I’ll give you a tenner for each one you manage.”

Clutching at his chest, Theon gasped dramatically. “So little faith in me!”

Sam shook his head and sighed. “If only my father would give me that kind of money for my grades.”

“What are you predicted then?” Jon asked Sam quietly, but still the other two boys leaned forwards, clearly desperate to know.

“Um,” Sam said, “Two A*s and an A. But I want an A* in History as I’m applying to Cambridge.”

“Shit,” Jon said. _Cambridge?_

“That’s rough,” Robb nodded, “I need the three As for most politics courses.”

“We still have time to decide though,” Jon said, tapping his fingers on the table.

“Yeah, thank fuck,” Theon said, making the others laugh, but Jon couldn’t.

University was too much for him right now. He couldn’t think about it, couldn’t acknowledge the tidal wave that was coming for him as he had to decide exactly what he wanted to do with his life.

Since arriving in Winterfell, he’d only ever thought about leaving, and even that ironclad conviction that he’d held onto with both hands was falling away.

Because really, could you leave your soulmate?

Could he leave Sansa now? Even if she didn’t feel the same?

A year at a time. That would be how he’d have to take it.

Later, as he pushed open the door to The Freefolk, Jon felt a smile tug at his lips as he spotted Tormund practically knock a patron over as he came to clap him on the back, his bellowing laugh filling the dim bar.

“Little crow!”

Heading towards the back, Jon ducked under Tormund’s outstretched arms, but he wasn’t going to get away that easily. Tormund yanked him backwards and engulfed him in a bear hug, saying, “You weren’t going to ignore me, now were you, little crow?”

“No.” Jon’s voice was muffled as he was pressed so tightly against Tormund’s jacket.

He’d only done two shifts before and every time Tormund had greeted him like this. If it was anyone else Jon would do more to shrug them off, but Tormund owned The Freefolk – he’d been good enough to take him on, so it would kind of rude to ice him.

That didn’t stop Jon huffing though. It was embarrassing, and Jon felt his cheeks warm as the patrons sitting at the bar tipped their drinks towards him and laughed deeply.

“You’re embarrassing him, Tor,” Karsi said, leaning against the bar, a cat-like grin on her face. “Look at the wee lad, he’s blushing.”

He knew they meant well, that they were just a little rough round the edges, but he couldn’t help but feel this was not what he needed right now.

“Alright, alright,” Jon muttered, skirting past them to hang up his backpack and jacket in the back.

 _It’s a means to an end,_ he reminded himself. _Would you rather be at the Targaryen’s right now?_

Out of nowhere, Jon found himself wondering what Sansa was doing now, how she was spending her Friday night. It wasn’t like he could text her and ask, that would be creepy. But he really couldn’t even guess.

 _How do I not know anything?_ It made Jon pause, because he should know _something._

But now wasn’t the time.

“Where’d you like me?” he asked Tormund, ducking back into the bar. It was still fairly empty, what with it only be four in the afternoon but from what he’d learned last time, it would be no time at all until it would be heaving.

“We’ve got Gilly coming soon for drinks, so go do glasses then you can go back to help Mance,” Karsi said, not looking at him as she threw out her hand to point out the crates beside him. “Ygritte’ll help ya for now.”

“It’s fine,” Jon said, reaching down to start, hoping to all gods he’d be left alone, but Ygritte was already tumbling over from the other side of the room, cloth slung over her shoulder.

Ygritte was a couple of years older than he was and had been the first to really talk to him during his first shift last week. But then her tone had dipped lower and she’d sidled closer, and it made Jon’s skin prickle, and he’d looked away and gone silent, as somehow, it had felt like a betrayal.

She’d gotten the hint though and hadn’t tried it again. For now.

“Hey Snow,” she chirped, kneeling down to pass glasses up to him. “Good day at school kiddo?”

“Fuck off,” Jon said, rolling his eyes.

“Aww, did mummy not pack your juice box today?” she said, grinning up at him, pleased with herself.

Jon clenched his jaw. Took a breath.

“Do I need to split you two up, eh?” Tormund said, ruffling Ygritte’s hair until she thwacked him in the leg with her cloth, growling.

“I could just go to the back, with Mance, now,” Jon said, wiping his hands down his trousers and avoiding Ygritte’s gaze.

Tormund nodded, and Jon left them as Ygritte started to wrestle Tormund off her when he pulled her up by the arms to wrap her in a hug.

The back of the bar was as grim as the front, but Jon could see how it could be welcoming in its own way. Clearly, The Freefolk was well-loved, seen as a second home by both it’s staff and patrons.

He might not be there long enough for that though.

“You here to help me, boy?”

As old as the town itself, Mance was curled into the chair behind the desk in the cramped office, stacks of forms and paperwork spilling from the wall cabinets and onto the sticky floor.

From Jon could gather, Mance was a co-owner of sorts with Tormund, helping with the management and running of the Freefolk. Although he was a decent boss so far, Jon could see why Tormund might need assistance keeping a business securely on the straight and narrow.

He’d only heard about Mance, had never met the man, so straightened his spine and said, “Yes I am.”

If he was going to be here until next June, it would be best if he made a good first impression. If he was liked, he’d be given more shifts, and more shifts meant more money for…whatever it is he might need it for.

“Come sit then, you can help sort these old orders. I want them piled up, start to end.”

Mance beckoned him forwards with a sharp wave and Jon didn’t hesitate, yanking forwards one of the mismatched chairs scattered around the edges of the office to sit on the other side of the desk.

“You’re Rhaegar’s son then?” Mance said, voice breaking the lull of shuffling papers.

Jon’s shoulders tensed and he had to work to suppress the scowl that always tended to form when Rhaegar was mentioned.

“Yes,” Jon replied stiffly, wondering what the best way to escape this conversation was.

In Winterfell, the Targaryen’s shadow was long and heavy, weighing on his shoulders.

But he was still a Snow. He had Lyanna’s name at least, not _his._

He didn’t need them anyway – didn’t need Rhaegar’s name, or money, or Romania or any of it.

“Tormund mentioned that you are gifted. Not too surprising in your family, is it,” Mance continued, still studying the documents in front of him as if gifts weren’t such a fuss after all, “Apart from Rhaegar, that is.”

Of course Tormund mentioned it. That was always the first fucking thing people mentioned.

 _Calm down_ , Jon told himself, unclenching his jaw.

“Ice powers,” Jon said, letting a snowflake or two bounce and roll across the desk towards Mance’s gnarled hands.

“Hmmm,” Mance said, looking him up and down then before leaning back in his chair. His gaze was unflinching, direct. Taking him in. Jon swallowed. “Make the most of it.”

_What?_

Tilting his head, Jon said it aloud then, “What?”

A sort of laugh escaped Mance, a scoff almost, and he raised an eyebrow at Jon. He would have shrunk back, but that wouldn’t be helpful in making a good first impression. He’d just look like a child.

“What they don’t tell you,” Mance said, his hands steepled in front of him, “Is that gifts don’t always last that long. They fade.”

It was like he’d been slapped, his head ringing and ice crystalized across his chest, he could feel it beginning to line his ribs and skate down his arms too.

“That’s not true.”

“I said that too, when I was your age.” A shade of pity filled Mance’s eyes, as the sounds of the bar faded in Jon’s ears.

“Why…” Jon pressed a hand to his forehead. Hot, too hot. “Why… do they? Why does no one say tell us, warn us?”

Not even Sam had mentioned that. Nor had any of the Targaryens...

A hand to his arm. Two squeezes.

“It’s rare, boy. Most don’t know about it. And if more did, could scare the parents, you know, the thought of their child falling apart after.”

Lifting his head, Jon squinted at Mance, the words jagged and not fitting together in his mind.

“A faded gift can lead to all sorts of trouble,” Mance explained, nodding to his hands, then he shrugged. “Be grateful, lad. You’re still young.”

With that, Mance went back to his work, but Jon couldn’t, he could harldy think.

He had to tell Sam, and Aegon and Rhaenys… and Sansa…

But would they only worry?

Was it worth it? If it only happened later in life, that was what Mance implied…

Riding back home on his bike, Jon felt split in two, bouncing and switching between decisions.

It was only when he was long meant to be asleep that Jon decided.

Sam could know. It was better if no one else did, for now.

He could tell them before he left…

And still, Jon couldn’t sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been awhile since I've updated, sorry about that. Basically, I started university, got very overwhelmed by everything and stopped writing. Then I didn't like what I'd plotted for the rest of this fic, so had to re-do my outline and just generally lost my motivation for it.
> 
> But! I do like it again now, and I wanted to wait until I knew exactly where I was going before I posted this chapter. I can't wait to share chapter 7, it's my favourite one so far :)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's ever commented on this fic, I re-read a lot of them when I was struggling and they really helped <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has a busy evening at the bar, an awkward family dinner, and spends some quality time with Sansa.

✨

{Jon}

**  
  
**

Jon could feel he was frowning as he surveyed The Freefolk, leaning on the bar - it had been steadily filling up since he’d turned up at five, and Jon was not looking forward to the night ahead. Gilly had warned him Saturday nights were the rowdiest and he wasn’t looking forward to finding out for himself exactly how crazy she meant.

Especially with Sam and Robb and Theon potentially stopping by later...

_ Still _ , he thought, giving a short nod to one of the regulars he recognised sitting down at the bar,  _ it’s a paycheque. _

_ And at least Ygritte isn’t on shift tonight _ . 

He didn’t want to have to deal with  _ that. _ Not now. Not with Sansa.

Ygritte was pushy in her own way, and though she’d backed off, Jon had a feeling she wouldn’t stay away long. That wasn’t what he wanted; he didn’t just want to be a guy used for a fun time.

Well, maybe if Sansa asked...

Huffing at himself, Jon shook that thought away and focused on stocking up the shelf behind him and the fridges, rubbing his hands on his jeans as the condensation dripped onto them. Karsi would have his head if they ran out halfway through the evening. Now he’d gotten a hang of the ropes at The Freefolk, any slack or sympathy they had was now gone, not that he blamed them. And Jon didn’t want to be dead weight either, didn’t want to disgrace himself or anything.

“Ey! Little crow!”

Tormund’s slap was so rough that Jon ended up coughing, hunched over his knees. Tormund laughed and said, “Thought you’d be used to it by now, boy!”

“Not quite,” Jon wheezed, one hand on his chest to steady himself.

“Well you got plenty o’ time yet,” Tormund said, leaning against the bar which seemed to creak under his weight. He looked like a giant from where Jon was now crouched beside the fridges. “Wanted to ask about your plans.”

_ Tormund was thinking about long-term plans? _

His surprise must have shown on his face, as Tormund smiled sheepishly and admitted, “Mance was the one asking, really.”

Jon wrapped his hands around the edge of the bar and heaved himself up, schooling his features, making them as blank as possible. Otherwise questions might be asked.

Since Mance had told him about… gifts fading, Jon had avoided working in the back rooms, instead choosing to deal with the drunks as the nights drew to a close, rather than sit beside him and do more numbing paperwork. 

It was stupid, he knew it was, but he just didn’t want to learn anything else from Mance. Having a gift was hard enough as it was, being a gifted  _ Targaryen  _ was hard enough, without finding out your gift could lead you to an early grave or whatever else Mance might know.

That was for another day.

He still needed to tell Sam about what Mance had said though, having not wanted to do it by text. 

That was why he’d suggested to him, and Robb and Theon too, that they come by the bar and see it properly. That way, Robb and Theon would stop bugging him about getting drinks at The Freefolk and he’d be able to talk to Sam privately when they likely got a bit drunk, given that they were already eighteen. He could do it at Wintertown if tonight was a disaster, but people were always watching and listening there, it was stifling.

Tormund was watching him, head tilted to the side, and Jon realised he’d been silent for too long, and rushed to say, “I don’t have any - long-term plans. Right now.”

“Oh.”

Tormund rubbed his knotted beard and looked him up and down.

“You’re a good lad. We’d be happy to have you as long as you want to stay.”

_ As long as you want to stay. _

Jon nodded, bracing himself for Tormund’s iron shoulder grip when it inevitably came.

_ Do I want to stay? _

It all depended on Sansa.

_ His  _ soulmate.

Just thinking it made sparks light along his arm and almost made him smile, which would be a rare sight in The Freefolk.

It’s not like he had university to look forward to - not that he was thinking about that right now - and the extent of his plans used to always end with him riding out of Winterfell on his motorbike without looking back.

But if he did that now… he’d look back.

He knew he had to take it a year at a time, that everything was still so unclear, but soulmates should be together. That was how it worked. That’s what everyone always said.

Maybe, if she wanted… she could leave too…

Thoughts loud and jumbled, Jon continued to serve all manner of customers, almost dropping several glasses, only saving them when ice shot from his hand, securing them to his palm. 

Beyond the windows, the sky darkened as winter would soon arrive, and Jon, though he’d only been there for two hours, already wanted to leave, when the bar door swung open and a voice called, “Johnny boy!”

Aegon crossed the bar in seconds to shove at Jon’s shoulder over the countertop whilst Rhaenys followed behind him at a leisurely pace, giving her brother an eye roll - “You saw him this morning, Egg. You’re as excited as a puppy.”

Seeing them in their pristine uniforms - well apart from the small scorch marks on Aegon’s - in a place like The Freefolk was so odd that Jon had to blink several times to make sure they were really there, and not a bloody side effect of having a gift or something.

“What -” Jon started to say, when Rhaenys interrupted, saying, “Viserys is already over for dinner and Dany started glaring at us now too -  _ thank you for that _ \- and not just you.”

“And we’re ‘proper’ Targaryens!” Aegon said with a sneer, making air-quotes. 

_ Ah. _

“Knew you’d understand,” she added, and it was Jon’s turn to roll his eyes because of course she did.

“Give us some drinks then,” Aegon said, whacking his hands on the top of the bar with a grin.

“You’re not 18 yet, Egg.” Jon wiped the bar, ignoring Aegon’s fierce protests. It wouldn’t hurt to give them some coke though, not if they were avoiding Viserys. Jon clenched his jaw just thinking of the man’s smug face and empty, violet eyes.

Not five minutes after Aegon and Rhaenys had arrived, Jon heard a commotion by the door, and someone saying, “Oh, sorry there, sorry!”

“Sam!” Jon called, a smile pulling at his lips as Sam lit up. Before he could rush over, Jon moved out from behind the bar and met him far enough away from Rhaenys and Aegon that they couldn’t hear.

_ Might as well tell him now,  _ Jon thought, and pulling Sam into a brief hug, Jon said, “I need to tell you something quickly.”

Already Sam was nodding, and Jon said, wincing slightly, “Gifts can fade. Over time.”

“WHAT!”

“Sam,” Jon hushed, bowing his head and trying to wall away his emotions as Rhaenys was so close, “Mance, one of the owners sort of, told me. He said they could fade away and lead to trouble.”

“That’s - ” Sam broke off for a moment, then said, “I’m so sorry.”

Jon shrugged. “It’s alright. I - wanted you to know. For your research. But keep it quiet.”

Thank god his voice didn’t tremble.

It was horrible. Jon didn’t want to imagine how it would feel telling someone gifted that this might happen to them. Telling Sansa...

After swallowing, Jon nodded towards the bar and said, “Come on.”

Aegon’s eyebrows were raised as they walked back over to them, and Rhaenys was squinting at him, as though she was trying to pick him apart with her eyes alone.

_ She probably was as well. Great. _

Once Jon had nodded at Tormund and served the slightly tipsy customer standing beside the till, Jon noticed Sam’s backpack which was slumped on the bar’s counter, which looked as though it was going to split at the seams, probably crammed with books and papers.

“Good day at the library?”

“Oh, it was so informative,” Sam started to gush, his arms jerking up and around as he explained without pausing for breath, “I was looking more into Soviet propaganda today, because you know I find it so fascinating and we only touched on it last week, and there was this one poster which -”

“Is this Sam?” Aegon interrupted, leaning right across Rhaenys to stick his hand out for Sam to shake.

Flustered, Sam stuttered, “Y - Yes, I’m Sam,” and slowly took Aegon’s hand.

“Rhaenys, Aegon, this is Sam from my history class,” Jon said as Rhaenys elbowed Aegon in the side and hissed, “Don’t be rude.”

It was only when Sam’s eyes widened and he stared at Rhaenys that Jon’s stomach dropped and he almost lunged across the bar as Sam said, “Oh! Yes, I did some more research for you today.”

Lead filled Jon’s veins as he sucked in a breath and started waving to Gilly at the other end of the bar where she was chatting with Karsi - “Gilly, come and meet Sam.”

Rhaenys was frowning and her eyes flickered to meet his and she  _ saw _ , and his emotions unravelled before her.

Twisting away from her, Jon watched as Gilly bounded up to them and smiled brightly at Sam. Jon felt a twinge of guilt at his friend’s bewildered expression, but Sam’s new blush in front of Gilly did ease it a little. 

Perhaps they’d get along.

Smiling a little, Jon thought,  _ Sam deserves that. _

But then Rhaenys was jabbing him in the arm and saying, “What was  _ that  _ about?”

“Uh - ” Jon rubbed the back of his neck, - “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Rhaenys raised an eyebrow at that, and Aegon chuckled gleefully.

“Look, now really isn’t the time guys,” Jon said, sending Rhaenys several sharp waves of his feeling of wanting to be left alone. She raised her hands in surrender, grudgingly saying, “Alright, alright.”

Aegon continued to grin, looking between them and Jon wanted to ice his mouth shut when he said, “You’ve got, like, half an hour until she starts grilling you.”

Jon only realised how grateful he should have felt that they decided to back off and that Sam was so taken with Gilly that he didn’t speak more than a few words to them, when Robb and Theon walked through the door. Just his luck they’d  _ all  _ turn up. This probably wasn't going to end well.

Hearing Theon yell his name, Jon looked up and he could  _ feel  _ his stomach swooping, the lightning sparking over his arms, and how the back of his neck tingled, because there, shyly smiling at him from the doorway, was Sansa.

_ She looks uncomfortable _ , Jon thought, and he wanted to go to her and take her away from The Freefolk, somewhere cleaner and nicer and gentler, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“Jon! Shots!”

As Theon cheered, Jon jolted backwards, tearing his gaze back to Robb and Theon, who had come to stand in front of the bar.

“Jon?”

Rhaenys’ voice was subdued, her confusion and worry ringing out and Jon closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment.

He hadn’t blocked his emotions. At all.

And Rhaenys would remember when he’d asked, not so long ago, about the connections people could instantly feel with one another.

_ Fuck. _

“You alright, Jon?” Robb said, and, after swearing a few more times in his head, Jon replied gruffly, “Headache.”

To his left, out of the corner of his eye, Jon could see Aegon and Rhaenys shifting in their seats, raking their eyes over his friends, and sighing, Jon said, “This is Robb and Theon. Guys, this is Rhaenys and Aegon.”

“Targaryen,” Robb said lowly, eyes fixed on them.

“Stark,” Aegon replied, and no one moved. Then, Aegon started to smile and lifted his coke, saying, “Fuck it.”

Huffing a laugh, Robb shook his head and echoed him, nodding and saying, “Fuck it.”

“And who’s this, Jon?”

Rhaenys didn’t look like she’d been listening, twisted round as she was to better look at Sansa and Jon wanted to ice a wall between them. Crystals formed in the centre of his palm.

“This is Sansa.”

“I’m Robb’s sister,” Sansa supplied, edging forwards to smile better at her. Her hair was loose, shielding part of her face from him. She didn’t look too nervous now, not like she had been dragged here or wanted to escape.  _ She looks beautiful,  _ he thought, with her soft-looking yellow cardigan and cute backpack.  _ She looks like she really doesn’t belong here at all. _

“Nice to meet you. Sansa,” Rhaenys said, inclining her head. Then, she put out her hand.

Jon wanted to leap forwards and stop her, but he knew that Sansa was always going to be polite, he  _ knows  _ that at least, but still he hoped to be wrong. 

When Sansa shook Rhaenys’ hand, Jon could see Rhaenys brightening with understanding, with confirmation, and she glanced at Jon with a new razor-sharp focus.

_ And she’ll know she’s gifted too...  _

“Hey, Johnny boy -”

“What’s all this then?” Tormund interrupted, thank god, and Jon turned to his boss to say, “Look, I’m sorry, they wanted to have a look where I work. They can go…”

“It’s fine!” Tormund shook Jon’s shoulder, and leaned in to stage whisper, “Didn’t know you had so many fuckin’ friends. Who’d have thought.”

“We’re family. We don’t like him  _ that _ much,” Aegon said, and Rhaenys rolled her eyes at him. Sansa was looking between them all, and Jon rubbed at the back of his neck again. Perhaps not the best first impression they could be making. Typical. 

“No under-age drinking,” Tormund added, wagging his finger at them and jabbing it playfully at Jon before he started to move away, “Take a break with them kid, we’ll manage. Mind, only till half past. Then you all need take a hike.”

As he passed Gilly, who was splitting her attention between the growing number of customers and Sam’s blazing awkwardness and enthusiasm, matched only by the redness of his cheeks, Tormund gave Jon an unwieldy thumbs up, and Jon had to agree.

What he couldn’t be so enthusiastic about was the prospect of entertaining both his friends and Aegon and Rhaenys, and not embarrass himself in front of Sansa and put her off completely. 

_ This is your own dumb fault _ , he reminded himself, smiling at one of the regulars in a hopefully non-strained manner as he made up their drink,  _ it’s till half past, that’s all. _

He didn’t think they’d come to be honest. It was just where he worked. It didn’t matter all that much.

“This isn’t as bad as I was expecting,” Robb said, leaning backwards to better see the delights of The Freefolk early on a Saturday night, “Good place to work?”

“Could be worse.”

“What do they pay you then?” Theon asked bluntly, and Jon said, “As if I’d tell you.”

“How long will you stay here?” Sansa asked, and mind blank as he looked at her, Jon shrugged.

Breaking away from her gaze, Jon coughed then said, “Would you guys like anything?” to Robb and Theon. Only Robb heard as Theon was too busy leaning over onto Rhaenys arm, eyeing her with a grin and saying, “So, you’re gifted right? Gotta say, that’s pretty hot.”

Groaning, Jon was half-way to throwing his dishcloth at him, when Aegon said, “No, I am,” and made his palm fill with orange and yellow twisting flames.

“None of that here,” Jon was quick to warn, but when Aegon was back to sipping his coke and Theon became mysteriously quiet with Rhaenys’ hand on his arm and influencing gaze locked on him, their little group lapsed into silence, with the noise of the other customers and Sam buffeting them.

Ice moulded itself round the rim of the glass he was holding, and then Jon started to count as he got Robb a beer and Sansa a lemonade when they finally ordered, and racked his brain for something,  _ any  _ unifying topic.

“Are you doing anything nice during half-term?” Sansa said, standing beside Robb’s shoulder. Probably to huddle away from the throng slowly building behind her.

Ever polite, far more than the rest of the Targaryens, except, Jon could grudgingly admit, her mother, Rhaenys said, “We’re going to Romania. For the week.”

Jon knew she would ask, yet it still hurt when her eyebrows furrowed and Sansa said, “Oh… Jon didn’t mention it,” and he had to say, “I wasn’t invited.”

“Fucking Targaryens,” Robb muttered, taking a gulp of his beer, and Jon hated it because Sansa wouldn’t look at him, biting her lip, perhaps wishing she hadn’t brought it up. No, Jon was sure that was what she was thinking. 

“I’d rather not go either, man,” Aegon said, “A week with our Uncle Viserys and Dany? Couldn’t pay me for it.”

“Dany?” Sansa said, nose crinkling in the most-adorable way.

“Unfortunately,” Rhaenys confirmed, and she started to send apologetic waves in Jon’s direction. “It’d be nicer if Jon was coming along with us.”

“I think Jon should come stay at ours, the Starks have always got room,” Robb said, giving a shrug of his shoulders afterwards. “Dad wouldn’t mind, and Sansa could persuade mum, couldn’t you?”

“Of - of course.”

Was Sansa blushing?

“Should I get the adoption papers ready then?” Theon quipped, and Jon was quick to stopper his feelings then, to hide his unsteady heart from Rhaenys ever-present gift.

Soon, it was time for them all to leave, as Karsi was shooting him pointed-looks and Rhaenys’ phone had started to ring again and again anyway.

“Mum,” she said with a sigh, and turned to Aegon to say, “We better go. We shouldn’t have really left her with them anyway.”

“As if Viserys could ever scare mum,” Aegon said, as he stood up to straighten his blazer and shot a few sparks Jon’s way. “That’s for leaving us with them.”

“I guess we should get going too,” Robb said, “I promised Bran I’d go over his physics homework with him, though I bet he knows more than me anyway.”

“I said I’d walk the dogs with Rickon too,” Sansa said, placing her empty glass back on the bar’s counter, and when she glanced up at him, she paused and so did he, arm half-extended towards her.

It was hard to sense it then, but the warmth was still there, fizzing slightly this time. 

_ How are her eyes that blue?  _ he thought, trapped in them.

But then he caught sight of Rhaenys’ fingers tapping the countertop and Jon had break the moment, break their link, and Sansa stumbled a little as she backed away from the bar, thankfully not too far.

Rhaneys’ was staring at them both, and even Aegon pushing her towards the door and the hustle around her didn’t disturb her. She kept looking at them with a heavy gaze.

He wondered how long it’d take for her to bring it with him.  _ Give it a day or two. Especially as she’s already had to be patient. _

Subdued and already bored with the rest of his shift, Jon said goodbye to Robb and Theon with half a wave. To Sansa, he smiled.

_ If you don’t say goodbye, then she might stay.  _ A hopeless wish really.

Out of all of them, she was the one Jon wanted to stay, to brighten the rest of his evening. Just to talk to her more. Anything.

He’d done a great job of not getting attached.

“Goodnight, Jon,” Sansa said, still lingering behind the others.

“Goodnight,” he said, and then she left. Jon watched her walk away, watched the doors swing shut behind her, and didn’t want to look away.

“Jon, wait.”

Rubbing his eyes, Jon halted in front of the living room door, plunging his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

Although it was late in the afternoon, he still felt tired from the night before, having been unable to sleep once he’d gotten back at half two. Lying in bed, his thoughts had spun outwards, drifting from Sansa to school to Lyanna and round back to Sansa again.

“What do you need?” He could be nicer, but honestly he didn’t feel like it. Maybe later, he could smile and ask her how it was going at Dragonstone, whether her teachers had gotten any better, but now he just felt so heavy.

“No need to rip my head off,” she said, slouching back against the pillows, fiddling with the edge of her jumper.

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

She raised her eyebrows at him, before letting it go, and instead said, “I wanted to talk for a second, before dinner.”

“You sound like Elia,” he said, moving into the room and falling into the armchair furthest from her. She did sound like Elia when she spoke like that. Maybe a little like Lyanna too. Maybe it was deliberate.

_ It’s because she cares. Not that Elia really cares, but still... _

“Jon, do you remember when you asked me about connections people can feel? And what I said?”

She was leaning forwards, squinting at him, but he’d already made himself unreadable, hopefully beyond her reach. Instead of speaking, he only nodded.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Rhaenys said, “I know we’ve… only known each other for half a year. But… Sansa…”

“Yes,” Jon interrupted, knowing that she already knew. Might as well confirm it. 

“Is your soulmate?” 

“What?” Aegon yelped, sticking his head in, “You’ve got a soulmate, Jon, eh?”

“That’s what I’m asking, Egg!” Rhaenys said, and Aegon flinched and whined, “Ow!”, so she must have sent a jab of annoyance or anger his way. 

“Cut it out.” When they both looked at him, Jon rubbed his forehead and knowing there was no point lying, said, “Yes, alright. But please, be quiet about it. People can‘t know yet.”

Sighing, he added, “I haven’t told Sansa.”

Aegon sat on the arm of the sofa, and said, surprisingly seriously, “Are you alright?”

“Are you going to report it once you’ve told her?” Rhaenys asked.

“I’m fine,” Jon told Aegon, but he frowned at Rhaenys and said, “And no, of course not.”

“I was going to tell you not to anyway!”

Whistling, Aegon rubbed his hands together, back to his usual self. “Well, well, well. A soulmate in the family.”

Jon glared at him again and shot some ice at his hands, freezing the tops of his fingers together. As expected, Aegon’s eyes flashed, and growling, he melted the ice and flicked sparks back at him.

Balling snow and ice in his palms, Jon felt himself start to relax despite his general cloud of annoyance and worry as he focused on Aegon, who was making flames come alive in his hands in response. 

But, before they could start to brawl, Jon felt a blunt stab of exasperation, and Aegon mumbled, “You’re no fun, Rhae,” extinguishing his fire, and Jon did the same. She was right, but it was always fun besting Aegon in a fight. He needed that win right now.

“You two can fight outside later, it’ll be dinner soon.”   
  
“Now you really sound like Elia,” Jon said, and swatted away the pillow Rhaenys half-heartedly threw in his direction.

As Dany and Viserys weren’t there, breathing down their necks, and it was just them, dinner was fairly quiet that night.

_ No, not ‘them’,  _ Jon forcefully reminded himself, cutting away at the Sunday roast Elia had made,  _ the Targaryens and him. Separate.  _

“Is it to your taste?” Elia asked him, as though she’d been paying special attention to him which was unnerving.

“It’s fine.” Jon caught himself, and added a slow, “Thank you.”

There was only the sound of scraping cutlery before Elia continued, hesitating over her words so much that Jon sat up straighter and gripped his fork tighter.

“I - was thinking. Over half-term, which. Is soon. I could leave some food in the fridge. Or some recipes, if you’d prefer to cook yourself. Of course.”

“No.”

Her face seemed to freeze, and Jon hurried to amend himself and say, “I can do it myself. You don’t have to worry about me.”

But wasn’t it nice, having Elia worry over him like that? She was only being kind. 

Jon gulped, and looked away from Elia, as the ice in her eyes still didn’t melt and he couldn’t make it disappear.

“You should also take blocking pills while we are away.”

“ _ Mum _ ,” Aegon started, but she held up a hand to silence him, and Jon wanted to run, to go and get on his bike immediately. Instead, he said quietly, “You can’t make me.”

“I am asking you too. For - security reasons.”

Shame trickled down his spine, and maybe today was just a bad day or he hadn’t slept enough, because his eyes weren’t burning, were they.  _ 10, 9, 8, 7… _

“If he doesn’t want to, Elia, we cannot make him. His gift should be cherished.”

Rhaegar’s voice was jarring and Jon held his breath for a second.  _ Rhaegar was taking his side? _

Was he so tired he’d fallen asleep at the table?

“We discussed this,” Elia insisted, the food on everyone’s plate going untouched and getting colder, “With Viserys last night, remember.”

“Now I think Jon should decide for himself. If he destroys the house, you may call the GS Team.”

“I won’t,” Jon gritted out, obsessively tracing the wood grain of the table rather than looking at Rhaegar  _ fucking  _ Targaryen, as he defended him for some reason. There must be a reason.

What was he doing?

The silence round the table was uneasy, and for the rest of the meal, Jon refused to look at either Rhaegar or Elia. Not even once.

Finally, after an hour and a half of training, Jon let himself relax, as much as he ever could around Sansa. Now people knew about her gift, their training sessions were even more important. The stakes had been raised.

It was already cold when they’d arrived in the clearing, with no clouds to hide the night’s stars, and Jon had been almost disappointed when he realised she was wearing a sensible coat, and not another thin jumper. He’d worn one of his leather jackets which hung off his frame a little, in case she’d needed it again.

He could picture her wearing his jacket too easily. He wanted that. It would be like in the movies.

Except in the movies, girls wore their boyfriend’s leather jackets. 

They weren’t there yet.

“Now, try and lift then snap the twigs.”

As Sansa raised her hands again, Jon willed her to succeed. She’d improved so much, far more than Jon had ever expected in such a short space of time. 

He hadn’t thought she could do it, and feared he’d let Robb down, let her down. Now his worries over whether Sansa could master her gift or not were falling away, being replaced by the worry that he was going to let Sansa and Robb down in other ways. That he was  _ already  _ letting them down.

Distracted from his spiralling thoughts by a soft thud and heavy sigh, Jon looked back to Sansa and saw her shake her head miserably and say, “I can’t do it,” frown lines creasing her forehead.

“You can,” he replied gently, reminding himself to be patient. It had worked so far, to make her more comfortable and to trust him. More and more though, Jon was thinking that perhaps it wasn’t so deliberate on his part. Sansa seemed to make him melt.

Reaching out, there was a thrill as he took her hand and brought it closer. A small spark. So normal by now he’d only occasionally noticed it now. But then sometimes it burned ever brighter and... 

_ Focus, Jon.  _

“Two hands,” he said, shuffling closer on his knees to stretch her hand out towards the unbroken sticks, “Curling your fingers like this might help.” As he moulded her hand into the correct form, Jon could feel his heart pounding in his ears, his neck heating.

Moving an inch closer, Jon nodded, hopefully in an encouraging way, and said, “Try again. You’ve snapped one twig, you can do two. I believe in you.”

A loose strand of hair brushed his cheek as Sansa turned her head.

“You do?” she whispered, hardly speaking at all. Jon tightened his hold on her hand. Breathed her in.

"Of course,” he said, just as quietly. His breath made her hair sway, and he let himself imagine that it was because of him that she shivered, if she even did. “Always.”

_ Too much, Jon. Too fast, you hardly know anything about her. _

“Umm,” Jon said, dropping Sansa’s hand to rub his burning neck, “Uh - go on.”

Before she did though, Jon lightly, as lightly as he could, rested his hand in the small of her back. It fit perfectly and that wave of energy from weeks ago broke over him as Sansa spread her gift outwards towards the twigs.

If she’d asked him then to use his gift to freeze those same twigs, he couldn’t have, she was so distracting to him. But, she didn’t seem to notice him now, her whole being focused on those sticks, on lifting them and - 

Snap.

Four pieces of twig fell down and Sansa’s smile was radiant.

“Good job,” he said, reluctant to lower his hand and break that connection. 

It really did make her stronger, it was so obvious.  _ How come she doesn’t ask about it then? _

“One more thing before we go,” Jon said, casting round for the rope he’d brought. “I think it’d be good for your control if you tried to split this down. My mum made me do a similar thing, freezing individual strands of rope. Don’t think so much, try to just feel.”

Rather than say anything else, Jon crossed his legs and sat back to watch Sansa try and try again to split the rope. 

The way she was so determined to learn and be perfect - she must be desperate for control, like he’d been at first. And with people knowing now...

_ She feels dangerous, remember.  _ Maybe she thinks if she can control it, like him supposedly and that made Jon scoff a little, then things will be alright.

Would her knowing about their connection help? Is he letting her down by keeping that from her when it might help her learn control?

Robb had trusted him to help teach Sansa, and Sansa had put her trust in him too…

But then if he told her…

Jon clenched his jaw as he thought about it, because if she knew, she might leave. Or reject him. Or hate him.

If she refused to believe it, he’d then be left empty. 

And if she told Robb, then Robb might kill him. With Mrs Stark’s help too. 

Lying back in the grass as Sansa huffed beside him, Jon squeezed his eyes shut and tried to count, but it didn’t work as his thoughts wouldn’t be silenced.

Because none of this matters if their gifts are going to fade away. 

_ Oh gods.  _ Would their soulmate link fade away too?

Sick of his thoughts and shitty mood, Jon hauled himself up and asked, “How’s it going?”

“Alright.” Sansa bit her lip, arms outstretched. “I’ll keep practising at home.”

“Do you want to go somewhere first?”  _ What?!  _

Although he was screaming at himself, Jon tried to mask it and pushed on, saying, “I’m hungry and don’t really want to head back yet.”

Sansa’s eyes were wide, as though he’d just suggested breaking into Wintertown High School and wrecking it with their gifts, but  _ thank the gods  _ she started to nod - “Al - alright. I’d love that.”

It’s a way to get to know her better, Jon told himself when they reached the road and he handed her his spare helmet. It’s not like it’s a date. This way they can get to know each other properly before he tells her - everything. Anything.

_ It’s not a date. _

Once he was seated, he could feel Sansa gingerly straddling his motorbike because he wasn’t exactly going to call Robb or Rhaegar to give them a lift, it was the only practical option. And it wasn’t exactly terrible either as Sansa was pressed so close to him, holding on - 

_ Not a date. _

He kept telling himself that as they whipped through Winterfell, saying it and saying it to engrave it in his mind, but it didn’t really work as Sansa was so  _ close _ , and despite the leather and the bike and the wind, Jon still thought he could smell the flowers of her perfume. He found that he hoped it would linger again, like it had the last time.

_ Get it together, Snow. Don’t freak her out.  _

But if she wasn’t freaked out by him being a gifted Targaryen, then what else was really going to do it.

_ Oh, I don’t know,  _ he thought, _ perhaps being secret soulmates. Except perhaps not, if our gifts fade.  _

Jon huffed, then gritted his teeth, focusing on the road disappearing under them, on the headlights splitting the dark.

“Where are we going?!” Sansa shouted, and Jon yelled back, “You’ll see.”

It might not be date - it absolutely wasn’t because that would be impulsive and too fast and not like him at all - but Jon didn’t want to disappoint her either, so he was taking her to Alfred’s, a little American-style diner just outside of Winterfell that Rhaenys had showed him during summer.

From what little he knew and could guess, Sansa would like the style of it and how cosy it was. It was the kind of place he could imagine people liked to draw, so that might help her like it.

Also, it was the only place he could think of going as it was too late to go anywhere else, and no one would see them there. It grated on him, that the knot in his stomach could be more than just nerves, could also be fear. He didn’t want people to know. 

It would hurt Sansa at school. People would talk and he’d be expelled for knocking them all out or icing them. Mr Seaworth had his limits. 

He didn’t want Robb to find out by accident either. He probably wouldn’t think it was a date but if Mrs Stark learned about it from him… Jon could already picture her deep scowl. She’d disapprove.

Finally, they arrived, putting a stop to Jon's tumbling thoughts.

Sansa was graceful as she got off his bike, and Jon missed her warmth for a second, before he got distracted by the way she gazed up at the neon Alfred’s sign and the pastel-pink stripes on the outside of the diner. 

Pink hues fell on her face as she hugged her coat closer to herself and the frustrations of training melted off of her. Melted off of him too.

Whatever she thinks of him, whether as just her brother’s friend or more, Jon knew then, that if she was happy, he was happy. Soulmates or not.

“What do you think?” he said, having parked his bike, sidling up to her and putting his hands in his pockets. Because they were cold, and  _ not  _ because he wanted to wrap them around Sansa’s waist, or hold her.

“Jon - I love it,” she said, smile brief but bright and wide. “It’s a shame I left my sketchbook at home.”

“I can always bring you back another time.”

“I wouldn’t want to waste any more of your evenings,” she said softly, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“You’re welcome to. Call me any time.”

_ God, I sound so earnest. _ He wanted to wince, and knew that if they were here, the twins would each throw a pillow at him.

It didn’t look like Sansa minded. She just smiled again, then scuffed her shoes, looking at the ground.

“Come on,” Jon said as he walked towards the door.

It wasn’t too busy, and for that, Jon was grateful. He wanted Sansa to be comfortable, so they could talk properly. And not just about their gifts either.

They didn’t say anything as they headed to one of the booths around the corner, and Jon rested his hand against Sansa’s lower back. It fit so well there. She didn’t seem to want him to take it anyway either.

Or perhaps that was making it too much like a date.

_ Damn it _ , he thought, slowly letting his hand fall to hang by his side. He knew he was overthinking this, but couldn’t stop himself. Because what would happen if he messed this up, or read it the wrong way?

_ For god’s sake, just relax or you’ll mess it up either way. _

“Is this one alright?” Sansa said, indicating one of the booths towards the back of the diner, where there was hardly anyone sitting at all. Just where he’d have picked, to be honest.

“Perfect,” he said, sliding in to sit opposite Sansa. He spotted a waiter coming their way but he didn’t need to read the menu to know what he was having.

“What can I get for you kids then?”   
  
The waiter smiled at them and Jon said, “Can I have the double waffle with bacon please?”

“Can I have a pancake please, with lemon and sugar. And a tea, too,” Sansa added, before settling in her seat and glancing at him closely with those ocean-blue eyes. Jon felt as though he would drown in them if he looked too long.

“What are you drawing at the moment, then?” Jon asked, because if he was going to get to know her, that seemed like a good place to start. And it was an innocent topic too. School related.

It was a good choice too as Sansa stopped fiddling with the ends of her hair and became more animated, and Jon found himself leaning forwards to be closer to her and to feel that spark.

“I’m drawing Rickon, as part of an observed study,” she said, “I’ve chosen to focus on family at the moment, and plan to draw all of them, or even paint them, then collate the images in some way.”

Shrugging, Sansa added, “And I'm happy to draw Rickon.”

“How do you keep him still long enough to draw?” Whenever he’d seen Rickon, he’d been bouncing around the Stark house like a ball of pure energy, shouting or rushing over to him to beg for more floating snowmen. He’d need to be tied to a chair, surely.

“That’s part of the fun,” Sansa said, smiling, no doubt guessing at the chaos he was picturing. “It’s meant to be ‘loose’ and ‘spontaneous’,” she said, making air quotes, “That’s what Shae said I need to work on. To challenge myself.”

As if she needed to be challenged any more than she already was being.

Instead of saying that, Jon said, “I’m sure it’ll be great.”

Lifting herself out of her seat for a moment, Sansa double checked the empty booths around them then ducked her head down and said, “It has been helpful that I’ve been able to pull my pencils or sketchbook from across my bedroom whenever I hear him running through the house. I can catch him easier and try and get something down.”

“You’re a better person than me,” Jon said, knowing he was smirking slightly, “I use my gifts to beat Aegon in a fight and make my drinks colder.”

“Both are valid and important,” Sansa said sagely as she tried to put on a serious face, but her lips twitched and eyes twinkled.

Could she be flirting?

Was  _ he _ ?

_ It’s not technically a date Jon Snow. Don’t. Just get to know her more, don’t let it slip away. _

Taking it back to more serious,  _ safer _ ground, Jon said, “Do you think that’s what you’ll do at uni? If you’re going?”

Sansa bit her lip - which was something Jon couldn’t look away - then she said, “I’m… not sure. That or law. I think.”

“Law. Wow.” That would be impressive. From the fire he’d seen peeking through her tough armour, he knew she’d be a force to be reckoned with in a courtroom - Elle Woods style, Rhaenys would probably say.

Law.  _ Damn.  _

“Are you going?”

“To uni?” Jon said, and when Sansa nodded, he tried to stop himself grimacing and said, “No. That’s not the path for me.”

Once their food had arrived, Sansa started to ask him about his favourite things. Jon suspected she might be embarrassed that she didn’t know much about him, or at least not about things she could ask about. But it wasn’t her fault he wasn’t inclined to be open, not like Aegon or Sam.

“Favourite food?” she asked seriously, as if she wanted to start writing his answers down. That’s sort of what he wanted to do.

After swallowing his mouthful, Jon said, “Waffles,” not wanting to overthink it.

“Lemon cakes,” Sansa replied immediately. 

“Just any type?”

“The one’s my mother makes,” Sansa said, and Jon could almost feel the warmth in her eyes. 

Before eating another forkful of waffle, Jon asked, “Favourite film?”

Sansa hummed as she delicately cut away at her pancake. “Can I have more than one?”

“Of course,” Jon said, half-smiling. “Mine are the Harry Potter movies. My mum used to read me the books as a kid.”

“Bran loves them,” Sansa said, laying down her knife and fork, “I love… Pride and Prejudice, Anastasia, and… Notting Hill.”

“Julia Roberts. Classic,” he said enthusiastically, properly smiling now. He’d been doing that more lately.

“And The Princess Diaries!” Sansa said, laughter falling from her lips, “That one too.”

“A perfect movie night,” Jon said, with perhaps too much sincerity as a blush came over Sansa’s cheeks, and Jon decided to examine his plate.

“Favourite… board game?” Sansa asked quietly, and then they were off again.

Later, after paying the bill and dropping Sansa home, Jon drove his bike back to the Targaryen’s and hid away in his bedroom, mainly to avoid Rhaenys’ and Elia’s all-seeing eyes.

Lying there, Jon thought that it had been nice, nicer than he’d truly expected, sitting there with Sansa for a while, not worrying about their gifts or training or sixth form or anything. She’d opened up far more than he thought she would, what with her having been hurt by guys like Joffrey-fucking-Baratheon.

He’d felt - calm. Like when he and Sam were studying together in silence for a while or when it was just Lyanna and him.

Gods, she was so bright, so caring, despite all the stress she was under. And so resilient too.

She may be tough, but Jon still felt he was right not to tell her everything. About what Mance had said. About  _ them _ . 

There was a slim possibility too that Sansa could work out their connection by herself...

He didn’t need the flashes of electricity between them to tell him they were soulmates, that they fit together. Their training sessions, the time they’d spent together, and tonight would have been enough by themselves.

Enough for him. At least.

A voice in his head whispered,  _ please let her think it was a date too. It didn’t happen too fast. Please, let her feel something real. _

Jon scrubbed at his face and groaned - he was really in for it now.


End file.
